


Fragile, Broken Things

by emissarystilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Feels, Be careful what you ship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erica Feels, F/M, Fluid Sexuality, Isaac Never Left, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Magical prejudice, Marijuana, Masturbation, Mentioned Kate Argent, Minor Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Pack Feels, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles, Stilinski Family Feels, Torture, Underage Drinking, Unexpected Feels, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Warning: Sterek undertones, Witches, cause its important goddamn it, emissary stiles, every ship is minor, nogitsune recovery, somewhat canon compliant, this is mostly about Stiles and his recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emissarystilinski/pseuds/emissarystilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Nogitsune, Stiles begins to put himself back together with the help of Lydia, Scott, Deaton, and the rest of the McCall Pack. He discovers his spark of magic and uses it to heal the wounds the Nogitsune inflicted. Along the way he learns more about himself than he could have ever imagined.</p><p>- this story is not going to be updated anymore. Apologies! -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It's raining. Of course it is, Stiles thinks, how incredibly fitting. It had been four months since Allison's death and they already had a new issue on their hands: berserkers, loads of them. They showed up in town in the form of a gang. At first, the pack had thought they were just a bunch of ass holes looking to cause trouble, just looking for something to tear down. It was Allison's father that had let them in on the myth and had told them what they were dealing with. He is in a perpetual state of grief yet he can't seem to stop fighting for the pack. Stiles thinks that he knows it's what Allison would have wanted. Thinking of her places the familiar ache of grief in his chest. It feels like someone is shoveling out his insides.

He looks out the car window, the downtown of Beacon Hill's passes by in a blur. He can feel her looking at him periodically, inspecting him with those sharp green eyes. Lydia insisted on driving him home after what happened. It was getting too obvious, his self-destruction. At first, he made purposefully getting hurt in these confrontations look like an accident. He always chose the right moments to let his guard slip and allow one of the berserkers to land a particularly brutal blow to his fragile, human frame. A punch here, bruise there, gash there went unnoticed. Every member of the pack got banged up so he blended right in with the familiar shades of black and blue.

Tonight was different.

They had been out in the woods, staking out one of the gang meetings and it had been going fairly smoothly. He, Lydia, Scott, Derek, and Isaac were going unnoticed to the group of hulking men, actually gaining useful information about their hierarchy and how they did things. Stiles could see that it wasn't going to come to blows and he felt rage bubble up in the back of his throat like bile. He needed this tonight but there he was watching his opportunity slip through his fingers minute after minute.

So he let his foot fall more solidly on a branch that he knew would break under his weight. The sound had echoed through the forest, the familiar snap reverberating off of the trees. He tried to look apologetic, tried to look like it had been an accident but she saw it and she saw everything else after that. She saw him loosen his grip on one of the men so that he could get free. She saw him slow his reflexes down so that the man coming at him could hit him squarely in the jaw, knocking him onto his back. And she saw him laying there, trying to look helpless, while he wailed into him. Once Scott took notice he immediately yanked his attacker off of him, throwing him back into the darkness of the preserve.

Stiles knew that she was inspecting him now. The car was quiet as they drove, their usual conversation replaced by a weighted silence. They had leaned on each other heavily after the night Allison died, she more than him because he wasn't as open anymore. Not that he was an open book beforehand but after the Nogitsune he didn't let his guard down, not even around Scott.

His house came into view as they turned onto his street, his dad's cruiser absent from the driveway. Great he thought, knowing that his father working late meant that Lydia would most likely come inside. His suspicions were confirmed as she pulled in, parking and turning off the car. She didn't even look at him as she unbuckled her seatbelt and huffed out of the driver's side.

Stiles knew there was no point in fighting her so he got out as well and went to unlock his front door for them. She pushed past him, heading up to his room. He knew he was expected to follow and could feel the fight coming on. He didn't know what approach to take here. Pretending that he didn't purposefully start the fight and have the living shit beat out of him was just an insult to Lydia's intelligence. Yet, he was still hesitant about being honest with her. This burden was his to bear, not hers.

He didn't look up as he entered his room, just closed the door and went to lean against his desk. She was openly staring at him now with a calculative expression.

"So, do you want to tell me what the hell that was?" the words fell past her lips in a soft but decisive manner. She didn't seem frightened or appalled which confused him on many levels.

He sat there, perched on the worn wood as the seconds ticked past. How could he explain? How could he even begin to tell her that he needed it, needed to feel punished? That everything he had done or had let be done to his pack, his family could not go unnoticed? That he couldn't forgive himself as quickly as they had forgiven him? That, in a way, he felt responsible for all the shit that had happened to them?

He settled for two simple words, "It's complicated." The words were faulty. It sounded like a cop-out, an excuse.

Lydia's eyes flashed, angry now. "Don't you dare give me that bull shit, Stiles. How dare you even presume that I would let you get by on that reply? I'd say my ability to understand complicated things is on the high side so why don't you explain to my why you did what you did tonight?"

Her voice had risen in volume by the end and her nostrils were flared. She looked like a bull getting ready to charge at someone.

He couldn't be mad at her, welcomed her anger actually. Stiles hated them handling him like he was made of porcelain, treating him like he was still the innocent boy he once was.

"What do you want me to say, Lyds?" He sighed, he really didn't want to tell her all of this but he could see that determined look in her eye. He would never be able to go to bed if he didn't respond, as if he slept these days. "Do you want me to tell you that I gave away our position on purpose? That I wanted to get into that fight?"

"If it's the truth, Stiles," she said immediately, "then yes! I do want you to tell me that because you've been lying to me, to everyone for months! If you finally tell me something that is remotely true then yes I want to hear it!"

"Fine!" He spat out, the anger coursing through his veins again, hot and violent, as he pushed himself off his desk, "Yes, I gave away our position on purpose. Yes, I wanted to get into that fight and yes, I let that guy go berserk on me, pun intended by the way, because I fucking deserve it, Lydia! He could have killed me and I would not have given a damn because I deserve it after everything that I've done. Is that what you want to hear?"

His chest was heaving with the force of his words. Saying them out loud cracked him wide open. He felt like a tree that had been split in half by a lightning strike, raw and vulnerable, as she stared at him in disbelief.

Lydia's eyes were wide as she took him in. He saw her lip quiver and he deflated, he couldn't stand the thought of hurting her but, she tightened up immediately. Not letting her emotions get in the way just yet, she made her way over to him, turning him towards the mirror hanging crooked on his wall. He hadn't looked at himself in days, sickened by the sight of his own reflection. He looked like a different person at the moment. His face was smeared with blooming bruises; his top lip was split open, caked blood making the wound look grimy. There were too more cuts on his eyebrow and one on the sharp edge of his jaw. The rest of him, as per usual, was also covered in various scrapes and dots of purple and yellow where fresh bruises appeared and old ones began to fade; he was a mess.

Lydia spoke up then, "I remember one of the last times we were in here like this, do you?"

Even though she knew he was aware of what she was mentioning, her tone demanded an answer, "Yes, I remember," he grumbled, disgruntled by the memory, "Gerard."

Grabbing his arm, she made him face her then, "Yes, Stiles, Gerard. That night I was saying things that were very similar to what you just said. I didn't care either, about living or dying. As long as Jackson was safe, as long as it all stopped. You know what changed my mind about that? You."

He looked away from her, remembering his long-winded speech about how he would feel if she died. He had been thinking of his mother and what it had been like for him to lose her. He couldn't fathom why someone would choose to do that to the people who loved them, choose to put them through that loss when it didn'thave to be that way.

"You shook me out of that by simply telling me how much my death would affect others. The difference between you and I, though, is that you think that it will fix things, make them better," he looked away from her then, bottom lip fixed between his teeth. Of course she knew. He often forgets how well she could read him. "But guess what, Stiles?" she continued, "I'm sorry to break it to you but, it won't help a lick. You were not the problem, you did not cause the shitty things that happened to us, and you do not deserve to be punished for chaos and havoc wreaked by the Nogitsune."

He began to protest, started to tell her that she didn't know a damn thing about how that feels. To watch yourself twist a sword through your best friends stomach, set up traps and bombs that took the lives of innocent people. She had no fucking clue about what he went through.

She saw him begin to argue though and she put one of her dainty fingers to his mouth to silence him. "I already know what you're going to say and you're right. I don't know what happened to you, Stiles, and I can't fathom the guilt you have. That doesn't change the simple fact that it was not you and you did not cause those events. I need to you to believe that because I wouldn't tell you that if it weren't as true as me saying the sky is blue. I'm not going to push you and I'm not going to tell anyone but if I see you pull that again, so help me, I will make sure Scott and Derek know what you've been doing and that you are not present for anything but pack meetings, you got it?"

He couldn't do anything but stare. Her threat was real, he could see it in her eyes and the firm set of her mouth. It should have comforted him; the thought that she cared this much, but all it did was infuriate him more.

He yanked his whole body away from her, practically knocking over his desk chair in the process. "Lydia, why do you care?" he said in disbelief, "Why the fuck do you care if I live or die? Why do any of you care? I have done enough, allowed enough to happen to you all that you should have killed me yourselves by now. If it hadn't been for me she would still be here!" his eyes were welling now, unshed tears fogging his vision. There was no need to say Allison's name, Lydia knew who he meant. "It should have been me! They should have killed me. If they had, the nogitsune would have been gone, the oni would have been called off, and she would be here. You would all have been better off if it had been me; I would contribute more to this pack if I was lying cold and rotten in a hole in the ground."

His tears were flowing now and he couldn't seem to stop them. Every thought that had been running through his mind was spilling out. "And I'm so fucking angry! All you guys do is treat me like I need to be handled with care. Yet, I'm the one who was putting you all in danger. I'm so pissed at myself for being so weak, for letting it get inside my head. Do you know what that's like? I know that you get what it's like to be out of control of yourself, be in a fugue state, but, you didn't let it happen to you did you? You didn't consciously let Peter take over. I let him in, Lydia! It's funny isn't it?" he laughed without humor, running a hand over his damp, tired face, "I thought I was helping, Malia. I thought that if I just gave in he wouldn't hurt her that I could save her. But where is she now!? Gone! She skipped town months ago and I was left to watch this- this thing dismantle all the things that I've ever held dear to me. Some days I wish you and Scott hadn't gotten into my head to bring me out, that the final solution would have been to kill me and that I would be long gone because, God damn it, I already feel dead so why not make it permanent right?"

He was shaking with rage now, needing something to take it out on, something that would hurt him. Lydia was standing, wide eyed as he paced the room. He looked up and came face to face with himself. His reflection in the mirror only forced visions to play before his eyes, all of the devilish things he had done while seemingly shackled within his own mind.

In one fell swoop his fist collided with the glass, the force of his fist sending shards flying every which way, silently falling to the carpet. His breaths heaved through his lungs painfully, the burning reminder that his wish for death had not been granted, as he looked into the fractured image of himself. This was a more accurate portrait, he thought. This is how Stiles saw himself, a fractured shell of a person covered in blood and destruction.

A sob tore through him, the sound seeming to come from someone else. He fell among the debris, his back slamming against the wall. She was at his side at once, holding him as he cried for what felt like hours. He hadn't cried like that since his mom had died. Lydia's small hand came up to cup his face, holding him to her, as the other ran soothing fingers through his hair. When his tears ran out, they just lay there against the wall, his face buried in her neck as she wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders; her own tears falling silently down her face.

He wanted to say something, apologize for the mess he made, literally and figuratively, but his throat was raw from his cries. He felt her kiss his hair before getting up, moving into his bathroom where he knew she would find his first aid kit. She was always the one to clean him up after quarrels the pack would get into. Lydia returned quickly, kneeling before him and lightly grabbing his hand to start cleaning him up. Stiles didn't wince as she used tweezers to pick out the small shards of glass from his cuts, too exhausted to feel anything at all. In no time his wounds were cleaned and she was wrapping them up in gauze.

After she put the kit away, she was in front of him again, her hands gingerly grabbing his. He looked up through battered, unfocused eyes at this beautiful girl who for some reason cared for him. "Come on, let's go to bed." She whispered.

Sleepovers happened from time to time. Neither of them was able to sleep after the Nogitsune was extinguished. Lydia because she was haunted by nightmares of Allison's death and Stile's because, without someone there, he was too afraid to fall asleep. They both knew that Stiles wouldn't be able to sleep tonight no matter how exhausted he was so she shrugged off her jean jacket and toed off her shoes as he put on pajama pants. She was dressed down for once, only in leggings and a flowery tank top, other times she would have needed to borrow something of Stiles' to sleep in. She guided him into the bed, situating him under the warm, down comforter before turning off the light and climbing in after him.

They lie facing each other, knees bumping together but neither really cared anymore. Stiles heard her inhale as if to say something. She hesitated before saying, "You asked me why I care… if you live or die. So, for the record, Stiles, you're one of the most important people to me," she rushed out, the words a confession in the safety of darkness, "I… I honestly don't know what I would do without you now and I would never be the same if you were gone."

The last word was choked out, caught on the lump he could hear in her throat. He knew she was crying; he could hear the tremble in her voice. Bringing an arm under her to pull her to him, Stiles wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. She cuddled into him, crying silently while he held her.

He knew then that he would stop trying to get himself killed. Her hushed admission was enough of a reason but he knew he would never be able to do it to his dad or Scott. Forgiving himself and moving on, however, would be a whole different beast. Yet he knew without a doubt that he was more than capable of enduring as long as she and the pack at his side.


	2. Stay Away, Sweet Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night terrors and flashbacks ahead. Enjoy..

He was in the woods. He was in the woods and he had no idea how he had gotten there. The autumn night was brisk and smelled of firewood. Stiles took in the sights around him, feeling drunk. How had he gotten here? Suddenly he felt himself walking forward, he knew he was but in his head he never made the conscious decision to do so. He was in the preserve but he couldn't tell where, everything blurring into one mass of trees in the inky darkness.

An old dilapidated house came into his vision, Derek's. Well, not really Derek's per say but it was the old Hale house. He felt himself climb the steps, feeling anxiety crawl up his spine like a black widow. His hand lifted and pressed the door open with little care. Okay, he definitely didn't do that.

That's when he realized it. The Nogitsune. It was not he who was doing these things; he was simply along for the ride. He tried to move his body but he couldn't feel a thing. Could just watch through his own eyes as his body moved. Each time his leg moved it felt like a string was doing it for him, like he was a puppet. His saw himself open another door, walking down the rickety steps into the basement. He had never been down here before but the Nogitsune moved his body like he knew the old house like the back of his hand.

He heard whimpers and that's when he knew something was certainly off. Now, Stiles liked being right. He reveled in being right usually. This was not one of those times. His eyes focused on the scene before him and he wished he could scream. Scott, Lydia, Derek, Isaac, Melissa, and his father were all sitting in chairs. They formed a circle and all of their heads were bowed. The sight disturbed him more than most things he had seen in his life and Stiles has seen some shit. His eyes peered closer, letting him see that each and every one of them was tied to their chair with chains, a piece of kindling in each of their hands. He knew the Nogitsune was doing this on purpose, knowing that Stiles Stiles could see as well. He flitted his eyes from person to person as they stirred, letting Stiles get the full view of what was happening.

One by one his family and friends began to move as he felt his body grab a can of gasoline sitting in the corner. His father and Scott writhing against their chains trying to break free, forever the heroes. Melissa was looking at Lydia trying to calm her down, whispering motherly niceties through the tears streaming down her face. He felt his body move forward toward them, bringing the can up and dousing them in the liquid. Lydia was yelling, yelling directly at him telling him to stop that this wasn't him. Isaac was screaming, just screaming and thrashing about in sheer outrage. His eyes were flashing yellow as Stiles threw the gasoline over his head and Stiles could feel the hatred coming off of him. Then there was Derek and for some reason this got to him more than any of them. Derek was panicking. His eyes were childlike and wide, whispering a chorus of " _no, no, no ,no , no"_ as he yanked at his binds. The second the Nogitsune jiggled the can at him tauntingly, the chant got louder, his eyes starting to water. He felt his hands spill the contents of the can in a circle around Derek's chair, ensuring that Derek would be encircled by flames first before he himself actually caught flame. Stiles knew what he was thinking, he was thinking of his family and how they had died where he was sitting and that he was going to die there too.

He felt his own panic set in, trying so hard to do anything. Move, scream, run, anything. Nothing worked and he felt his own mouth shift into a downward smirk and the feeling made him feel ill.

The Nogitsune took notice, chuckling darkly. "What, Stiles? Don't you want to have a bonfire?"

A hand slipped into his pocket, the second his fingers touched matches he was screaming. At least he thought he was, he felt tears roll down his own face. Maybe he was breaking through? He struggled harder against himself as his hands lit the match. His hand flung the match into the air. He watched as it dropped in the center of his loved ones where gasoline pooled there. The second the flame was lit he was screaming.

But this time it was him.

All at once his senses rushed back and the scenery changed. He was no longer in the Hale house but his own bedroom. His limbs were flailing as he screamed his throat raw. Then he felt the arms holding him down and he panicked more, opening his eyes expecting to see the Nogitsune above him.

All he saw was the worry ridden face of his father. His screams continued but his ears seem to open up.

"Stiles! Stiles, it's okay! It's okay! It's me! Stiles!" His father was trying to yell over him, trying to reassure him that this was real and that he was himself.

His cries faltered, petering out into heaving sobs. Stiles was having a night terror. It was nothing new, something that happened every night sometimes multiple times a night. He wondered when they would end, when the terror would bleed its way out of his life like snake venom from a wound.

His father came down on the bed to hold him, murmuring reassuring and encouraging words. _It's okay kid_. _You can do this_. _It's over you're here_. _This is real_.

After about an hour, Stiles calmed and the sheriff let him roll onto his back while he went to get him a glass of water and something to eat. He lie there, tears still silently falling down his face. He wondered what time it was, what day even. He'd been staying home from school this past week. Most of his days, he would just curl up in his dark room and just lay there. He had no energy, the nightmares taking most of his energy and his depression zapping the rest.

His dad returned with water and some toast, knowing he wasn't up for a big meal after a night terror. Stiles felt him looking down on him, his helplessly broken boy. Coming forward to take a sip of water, he placed his feet firmly on the ground, needing to feel something solid.

He sighed, his breath drying out his raw throat further. "Dad, what time is it?" the question was hesitant because it showed that Stiles' days had been running together into one long night that never seemed to end.

"It's uh, it's around 3, Stiles," the pity in his voice barely concealed.

"Three what dad?" The sherriff looked down at his feet, being caught in the omission of whether it was PM or AM. "Also… what day is it?"

The sheriff brought a nervous hand through his hair, a habit that seemed to be hereditary, "It's 3 AM… on Saturday."

Stiles blanched. Saturday? That means- "I've been asleep for three days!?" The last time he checked in with his dad it was Wednesday.

"Stiles, look-" His dad started but Stiles rose up from the bed quickly, fear making his hair stand on end.

"Dad why didn't you wake me up!? Did I do anything? Was I here the whole time? Do you have the tapes from the-"

"Stiles!" a mental slap to the face snapped his attention to his rather exasperated father. "Stiles," he said, calmer now, "will ya just sit down? Please?"

He did as he was asked, sitting back down onto his bed.

"Look, you need to realize that you're okay." The words were weighed down with meaning that he knew his father wouldn't express, "Deaton checked you out when… it was over. He said you were clear and those things, the shadow people-"

"The Oni," Stiles spoke up, internally chuckling at his father's lack of supernatural vocabulary.

"Yeah those things, whatever they were, they did their thing and they gave you that weird looking scar behind your ear that means you are in the clear. And the doctors, the doctors let us know that your new brain scans were clear too. Kid you've got to rest. You're sleeping three days at a time then staying awake for five. It's not healthy! If this keeps up I'll-I'll call Melissa and have her bring over a sedative every night you just-"

"Dad," It was Stiles' turn to interrupt. He looked at his dad, worry etched into his wrinkled skin. He knew he was right, knew that he was technically okay. He didn't know how to explain to his dad that he didn't feel that way. That he felt like he was just barely glue together, pieces falling off more and more each day. How did he explain that to him? "I know they said I'm okay. I just… need some time to actually feel like I'm okay, alright?"

The world worn man sighed, crossing his arms in defeat. "Alright. I get it. I do," and Stiles believed him. "You need to get back on track though, Stiles. You can't start feeling okay, feeling normal again until you get back into normal things. I allowed this week off of school but you gotta let your friends in. I know you don't want to see all of the pack but you could at least unlock the door for Scott. You should see him standing out there in the hallway. If he was an actual wolf his tail would be between his legs and his ears all pinned down to his head. You don't need to get back into the supernatural nonsense but you gotta open up. Figuratively and literally."

Stiles nodded, knowing he was right. He felt bad turning them away. Scott came every day, knocking quietly and trying to get Stiles to come out. He even slipped Reece's underneath the door once to try and persuade him. Even Derek and Isaac came. Isaac almost knocked his door down before Stiles heard Derek knock him up-side his head. Lydia hadn't been back since the night she'd noticed his unique form of self punishment. She called him every day though. He never answered but she would leave him voice mails, calling back and leaving another if the first got cut off. She would tell him news about the pack and school, tell him she was there for him and to come to her when he was ready.

Was he ready? He didn't think he'd ever really be ready so now was as good a time as any. "Okay," he huffed, he dad peaking down at him hopefully, "I'll go back to school on Monday and I'll go see Scott Sunday."

His dad smiled, the first genuine smile he's given Stiles in months, clapping a hand onto Stiles' shoulder. "Atta boy," his voice was fondly warm, "Now try and eat something. You look like you're in the Hunger Pangs or something."

Stiles laughed, "Dad did you mean the Hunger Games? We saw that movie so many times! How do you still not remember the name? They say it like fifty gazillion ti-"

"Hey, gimme a break!" Stiles' missed the sound of his father's exasperated voice, "I liked you better when you were asleep."

He chuckled softly as his father made his way out into the hallway, closing Stiles' door behind him.

The second the door clicked shut and the silence crept in around him, alarm setting in. Sunday was pack meeting night. If he was really going to get back to a somewhat normal existence then he had to go. Sunday. He had 36 hours to get his shit in order.

How fast could he stitch himself together?

It's Sunday morning when Stiles realizes he can't do this. He can't just walk into the pack meeting like he hasn't been ignoring them for a whole week, like he hasn't been a self-destructive mess for the past five months. Would they throw him out of the loft? Had Derek changed the locks so he couldn't get in?

They had to know it wasn't about them, that it was about him and all the shit he needs to sort through. He had given up on that as well. There is no way in hell he could just put himself back together in a day and a half. It's going to take longer than that to sort through the muck in his head and in his heart but his dad was right. He won't start getting back to normal if he doesn't try and get back out there.

He knew the pack had forgiven him, that they didn't even think he needed redemption for actions that weren't his but how could he redeem himself in his own eyes? How did he begin to forgive himself for everything that happened, start to trust himself again?

By 3:30, a half hour before the pack meeting, he's a shaking mess in his room. He knew he'd been procrastinating all day. Cleaning his room, downloading copious amounts of music, and lots of pacing. He was onto re-netting his lacrosse stick now, helped him think. _I just have to do it, he thought_. He couldn't get back into things fully like he tried to before; the temptation would be too strong to continue punishing himself. So he would stay away from the stakeouts and fights and what not. He would help plan and research, those were his strong suits anyways.

That solved the problem of him not getting himself killed but how did he even begin to allow himself to heal? If he were shattered like this, cracked from the inside out, who would he be helping? He threw the lacrosse stick across his room in frustration.

It would happen all over again if he went back to things. He never allowed himself time to heal. Not from his mom, the kanima, or the nemeton and look where it had gotten him: weak and easily accessible to malevolent spirits. He would fail once again to protect the people he loved and he would continue to go through hell every single day.

_If you're going through hell, keep going._

The quote was from Winston Churchill, but it came to his mind in the voice of Morrel. Their whole talk after Matt died came back to him, the memory so vivid he felt like he was still sitting there, the sun warming his skin through the office windows. She had just explained to him that the constant panic he had been feeling, the panic he was feeling in his room in that moment, was called hyper vigilance. Like a constant panic attack, like he couldn't breathe, like drowning.

" _So, if you're drowning_ ," she had said, " _and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until the very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth, to not let the water in_?"

The thought had perplexed him, immediately reiterating that opening your mouth was a reflex. She kept pushing the idea into his mind though, the thought of fighting to hold that off for a bit of time.

" _More time to fight your way to the surface. More time to be rescued._ " Her words echoed in his mind, reverberating through his ears.

He stood from his bed, propelling himself back into the present. Stiles hadn't been too weak, too vulnerable. He wasn't any of those things because he was here. He had fought hard enough to stay alive when the Nogitsune had him, to have enough time to be rescued by Scott and Lydia, to hear Scott's howl, to toss the Go board, and to fight his way to the surface of himself.

Stiles was, is, and will always be a fighter. He is here, he may have gone through hell but he kept going and he doesn't plan on giving up now. The rush of self-assurance was like a high, something he hadn't felt in a year. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of wanting to fight for himself, to tell misery to skulk back into the darkness it came from and leave him be.

The clock ticked four o'clock as he scrambled to grab his keys, running down the stairs and out to the Jeep. It took her a second to warm back up to him, the gears shifting clumsily as he sped to the loft.

Everyone was there, he parked behind Scott, suddenly excited to see his brother. He didn't even remember putting the Jeep into park as he fell out of his car and hastily closed the door. His too-fast heartbeat clicked in time with the slam of his feet up the steps.

The slightest bit of hesitation crept deep into his belly when he came to the door but adrenaline coursing through his veins silenced it. With a quick tug on the rusty door lever, Stiles was standing before his pack, panting and wild-eyed.

They all were staring at him like they'd seen a ghost, so much for werewolf healing. Scott stepped forward first, "Stiles, what are you doing here? I thought-"

"I don't know what you thought, Scotty," Stiles interrupted, "But, I assure you you're probably wrong. I owe all of you an apology," He started, looking to the rest of the pack, eyes falling on Lydia a bit longer. She looked happily shocked to see him which gave him more confidence, "I'm sorry that I have been so shit to you guys this past week and just shit in general since… that night. I'm sorry that my inability to forgive myself has gotten in the way of everything and I hope it hasn't hurt any of my relationships here. If you're willing to accept me… I wanna come back. I don't think it's safe for me to go out in the field with you guys and I can't promise you that I'm fully back to being myself. I don't know if I ever will be…" he hesitated, all eyes were on him and it scared the shit out of him. He locked eyes with Lydia, the small girl nodding encouragingly at him. "I'm gunna try and put myself back together but it's gunna take time and I may need your help along the way. All I'm asking is that you be patient and just… please don't give up on me."

He peaked up from the spot he was staring at on the floor, looking at Scott. He thought he'd cry at the proud look Scott was giving him. He was on him in seconds, arms wrapped tightly around him; Stiles returning the hug immediately.

"There's nothing to forgive, Stiles," He murmured to him, pulling away so he could look him in the eye, "And there's no need to ask us to come back. You've always been apart of this pack and that's never gunna change as long as I have something to say about it."

"I might have something to say about it," Derek's voice was stern but there was a softness there that Stiles couldn't place.

He looked at him hesitantly, Derek approaching him slowly like Stiles was a caged animal. When he was in front of him, faster than Stiles could comprehend, Derek smacked him upside the head.

"What the hell!?" Stiles yelped, hand grabbing his skull. It wasn't that hard of a hit but still!

"That's for purposefully getting yourself hurt," Derek said, Stiles was able to hear the undertone of worry and, was that fondness, in his voice. He looked at him incredulously. Derek had noticed too? "I'm not stupid, Stiles.," rolling his eyes at Stiles shocked expression. "It's... good to have you back." Derek looked uncomfortably emotional and it made Stiles chuckled, earning another light smack to his cranium.

"Hey!" he yelled, ducking away from Derek's oncoming hand, "Is that how you show affection!? Did you miss me sourwolf!?"

"Pretty much,"Isaac said as he, Lydia, and Kira approached him.

Kira hugged him quickly, "I'm happy to see you, Stiles," Her naturally happy expression warming him. He really did like, Kira. She was such a cheerful person even when talking about murder and demons.

"And for the record," Isaac said, looking like he wanted to be mean for routine's sake but seemingly finding nothing to say, "I'm the one who got you those Reece's so you better have eaten them!"

"They're only like a dollar, ya cheapskate!" Stiles said in his best annoyed voice but a smile was playing at his lips.

Then there was Lydia, looking at him from behind everyone else. The second he looked at her, she ran over to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug. His arms wound easily around her waist, pulling her into him.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing each other in, as the rest of the pack made their way back to the living room. He had missed her so much this past week. Not seeing any of them had felt so foreign to him but Lydia especially.

They pulled away from each other and he saw that her eyes were shining, he brought a hand up to her face and she leaned into it. "I missed you." Her voice sounded smaller than usual and it made his heart ache.

"I missed you too," he whispered back to her.

She laughed lightly and nodded, putting a hand to his arm to lead him to the couch. On the table was a large map of downtown Beacon Hills, exes marking a myriad of buildings. He looked around at them as he sat down, his curiosity piqued.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together, "Let's do this shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short but I felt it was important. Constructive criticism is welcome and necessary x


	3. Safe Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by Ribs by Lorde and Degausser by Brand New

That night the pack fills him in on everything that had happened in the past week. It was much of the same, which frustrated him. So far, they had been tracking what the berserkers were up to, where they were living, who they were attacking, so on and so forth. There were around twelve of them, out-numbering the pack by four, and they all lived in different places. Some of them lived in an apartment together but it seemed only five lived there. They were assuming the others were farther down in the hierarchy but they could never pin down who was in charge. All they knew was that he lived alone, in his late thirties, and didn't seem to have any family.

Derek and Scott had been tracking the killings and Lydia was analyzing them, trying to find some kind of repetition. They were mostly middle-aged men living in Beacon Hills or its neighboring towns. The killings seemed erratic, never on the same day or in the same place and it seemed every victim was different. There were only a few women on the list of victims and they were just as random so it wasn't a gender bias either.

Some time in the night they ordered Chinese food, Stiles fishing out a menu he hid in Derek's kitchen. After being sufficiently stuffed on Kung Pow chicken, Stiles went back to the map and the list of names on the table.

"There has to be something, a method, a motive, something. I feel like we're not looking deep enough," he said, perplexed. Stiles liked a challenge but this was getting ridiculous. "We're missing something. If we could only find out who the main guy is…"

"That's what we had been thinking," Scott's voice found him from the couch. He sounded cautious, making Stiles turn around with a wary expression.

"And…?" he prompted, needing to know why Scott was talking him like a child about to have a tantrum.

"And… we were going to go on another stake out tomorrow after I got out of work. Creep around their apartment, see if we can catch a glimpse of him or see who seems to be calling the shots."

And that was why Scott sounded so nervous. He knew Stiles had said that he wasn't going to go out with them until he was feeling more like himself but… it was so tempting just to jump back in, especially since this whole ordeal was stumping him beyond belief.

"Do you… do you think you'd be okay to come along or…?" Scott was hesitant, not wanting to push his friend too far.

Stiles thought for a second, chewing on the strings of his hoodie. He knew in his gut he shouldn't go but then again if they were just sneaking around the apartment area there wouldn't be any chance for a fight so maybe…

"I don't think it's a good idea." He finally said with a resigned sigh. "I want to plan it though. I'll lose my mind if I don't do something to help."

Scott nodded his head, a sympathetic smile playing at his lips. Derek just nodded, putting the rest of his chicken away in the fridge. Lydia, Isaac, and Kira were all chatting in the corner so they brought no attention to the conversation next to them.

"We're meeting here around six tomorrow," Derek informed him, getting right to business. Stiles was thankful for it, needing to keep moving from the topic of his inner turmoil. They had heard enough of his moaning for one night.

"Okay sounds good." Stiles said, gathering his stuff. It was almost ten; he hadn't realized how long they'd been here. "I'm gunna grab the pictures and street view of the apartment and the road to take home with me. I can map out a rough plan before we meet and we'll all fine tune it together."

Derek nodded, going to grab the supplies Stiles would need. Scott came over to pat him on the back, saying his good nights before everyone else could come over. Stiles had missed him, not seeing Scott everyday was difficult. It had felt like one of his limbs was missing.

"Here," Derek huffed, shoving the papers into Stiles' arms. "Drive safe." His stern look was kept in place, a hint of worry in his features.

"Two signs of caring in one night?" Stiles said, slightly shocked at Derek's concern for him. "God, what has happened to you? Getting soft in your old age?"

The wolf closed his eyes slowly, "Shut up, Stiles." He sighed before walking back to the couch.

Lydia came over then, "I'm glad you came," She said, a pleased look in her eyes. "See you soon."

"I'll see you tomorrow," He murmured, leaning down to wrap his arms around her small frame in a tight hug.

Waving to the rest of the pack, he made his way out to the Jeep. He was feeling somewhat better. There was still that taste of self-loathing in the back of his throat and anxiety still permeated his muscles but he was breathing easier after being with his pack.

The autumn chill was starting to set in but he rode home with his windows down, relishing in the crisp air. His head felt clearest here, driving Roscoe with the windows down and the radio on low.

He thought of Allison then, knowing she would have been proud of him tonight as Lydia had been. She had been one of the most supportive friends he had ever had. They'd grown closer after he got to know her and stopped being jealous of her; especially after her mom had died. She had become more than just Scott's girlfriend who stole all of his time. She had become his companion, his confidant, and a fellow human in a world immersed in the supernatural.

He felt his chest ache with the pain of it all. "I miss you, Alli," He whispered to the silence. Somewhere he knew she could hear him and that was all that mattered.

After getting home and filling his dad in on the goings on, Stiles went up to his bathroom to shower. Taking his time in the hot water, he felt drained but his brain was still working over time. The warm spray helped calm his nerves.

He only got out when the water had run cold, his skin wrinkly and pruned. He threw on pajama pants and a t-shirt before opening his window to let in the cool breeze.

He knew he wasn't tired enough to sleep yet and he wanted to make sure he was exhausted before getting into bed, maybe if he was tired enough he would sleep through the night. Pushing away the thought of more night terrors, he grabbed the maps and photos Derek had given him and laid them out on his desk. He needed to start the plan so that he could tweak it tomorrow.

The road the berserkers lived on was a narrow one off the side of Beacon Hills' main street. A small hole in the wall type apartment building but not shotty enough that they would need to worry about safety. It looked like the apartment they suspected to be theirs was the corner residence, having some windows facing the main road and some facing the alley next door. Stiles was thinking that Kira and Lydia could sit in the car on the road to watch the front windows, they wouldn't be in plain view if they parked in the right area. The wolves could go into the alleyway. The apartment was on the second of several floors so they wouldn't need to get on the roof or anything to see into the windows. As long as they were quiet, no one would even notice they were there.

From the photos, it seemed that there was a den and two bedrooms facing the alley and a large living area on the side the girls would be on. This was lucky, Stiles could tell from the pictures that they seemed to have a lot of meetings in those rooms.

A knock at his door startled him out of focus. He stole a glance at his clock, it was close to midnight so it must be his dad saying good night.

Stiles went and opened the door. He didn't find the Sheriff though; instead a familiar strawberry blonde was in his doorway.

"Lydia?" after sweeping over her features, Stiles could see that she was quite shaken. "Lyds, what's wrong? What happened?"

She just shook her head, her eyes were red and she was in her pajamas. Lydia fell into him, wrapping her arms around his waist quickly and burying her face into his chest.

He hugged her back immediately, turning her to steer her into his room as he threw his door closed. He took her to his bed, she was full out crying now, sobs wracking her small frame.

"Lydia, talk to me. What happened?" He tried to keep the urgency out of his voice, not wanting to startle her.

"I tr-tried to go t-to sleep after the meeting but-but," she stuttered over the words, a small noise leaving her.

It wasn't much but it hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. He longed to help her, to do anything in his power to never allow her to make that tiny, broken noise ever again.

"But I-I had a nightmare," she said quietly, forcibly slowing her breathing so that she could get the words out. "She was there, Stiles."

He curled a protective arm around her shoulders. This happened from time to time, the dreams. Ever since Allison's death, Lydia would have dreams about her. Well, sometimes they were dreams. Dreams of them riding around in Allison's car like they would or it was like Allison would be coming to her in her dreams, talking out her problems when Lydia was yearning for her best friend. Other times they were nightmares. Nightmares like it was happening all over again, the feeling of her friend's life slipping away and Lydia would wake up screaming. Scott always heard her, he'd call Stiles and they'd rush over to her house, the two of them taking care of her until she fell asleep.

Tonight it seems was a nightmare if Lydia's state was any indication. She would always cry after she woke up but not like this.

"What happened? Talk it out with me," Stiles whispered into her curls. It always helped her to say it out loud, to acknowledge that they weren't real.

"It was different this time," She said. Her voice was quiet but stronger; her sobs had subsided not from the alleviation of emotion but of sheer force of will. "I was there this time, there in the courtyard while the fighting happened. I don't even know if it was how it happened but… it felt so real."

"It wasn't real, Lyds. You're here, you're right here with me." He said quietly.

"I know," she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing, She knew it was a reflex of his to let someone know they weren't dreaming after a nightmare. "I was standing there and I saw her shoot the Oni, watched that triumphant look spread across her face as she realized that she figured it out. But then… then I saw the other Oni coming towards her and I tried to yell but it felt like… it felt like I was paralyzed. I was screaming so loud in my head that it was shaking the ground. Then it stabbed her and as the sword went through her the ground shifted and broke beneath me. I just felt like the earth was swallowing me whole. Then I woke up, screaming."

It sounded all too familiar, the sense of being paralyzed. He knew better than anyone.

"I know it wasn't real, that I was dreaming but that feeling… that's exactly how it feels every time I think about her, Stiles." She looked up at him then, her eyes were searching his desperately for understanding. "Every time I think of her it feels like the ground is swallowing me up and like my head is pounding with a scream I can't get out. And the dream… being paralyzed… that's how I felt that night. Like I could have done something but I failed, like I failed her. Do you… do you understand?"

He hated that he did and he hated even more that she knew this feeling. That she knew the feeling of the world gulping you down like you were nothing, the feeling of not being able to do anything as someone you loved slipped through your fingers. He wished more than anything to bear this weight for her, to take all her pain and soak it into his bones.

"I do," he said quietly. He knew he didn't need to say much else, she knew the two words were loaded with his own experiences.

"I knew you would," she said, he heard a smile in her voice and he hugged her tighter. "Does it ever get better?"

Her question didn't sound hopeful, she knew better than anyone that for Stiles it hadn't gotten better.

"It will for you." He said in earnest, he needed her to know that this wasn't bullshit. That he wasn't just placating her. "You're strong, Lydia, stronger than you know. You know deep down that you couldn't have done anything to help her and that's the worst part because feeling helpless is not something that either of us enjoy but we're all too accustomed to. It's the price of being human I suppose," he sighed into a dark chuckle before continuing, "You'll make it through this though. It will take time and it will never be easy but it will get easier."

She looked up at him again, placing a hand over his heart. He knew she could probably feel it speed up at the contact but she didn't shy away.

"Do you think it'll get easier for you too?" She sounded so hopeful for him it nearly broke him into pieces.

"I don't know," he said to her, "I think it will eventually. Scott's optimism may finally be making an impression on me."

She laughed lightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always made his heart soar. Not everyone was awarded that smile, she didn't let that wall down for everyone and he would never stop being grateful for being one of the privileged few.

"Good, you're too cynical," She chuckled, looking down and leaning into his embrace. She fit her head under his chin and he loved how easily she fit into him. He would never let her know that though.

"I would say I'm realistic with a hint of cynicism if you don't mind," He said playfully.

"Technicalities," she snorted. A yawn broke free from her mouth, indicating to Stiles that she was worn out.

He untangled himself from her, going over to turn his lamp off. Lydia was sitting in the same place when he stumbled his way back to her. He found her hand in the darkness, getting onto his unmade bed.

"C'mere," He whispered. He couldn't help but keep his tone hushed. The cover of night making him feel as if every word he said was a secret.

She came to him wordlessly, hunkering down beside him under the covers. She rolled onto her side; her back nestled neatly against his chest. She reached back, grabbing his arm to pull around her.

"Can you hold me for a little while, till I fall asleep?" she said, her hushed tone matching his, "I just… need to feel safe."

He smiled to himself, loving that he made her feel protected. "Of course," he said, he kissed her hair and tugged her as close as she could get.

He liked that he could do that now. It wasn't weird or contaminated with his childish crush. It was just Stiles and Lydia, two people who cared for each other and needed one another.

"I can be your safe place whenever you need me to be," he murmured sleepily, the warmth of her enveloping him and lulling him closer to unconsciousness.

"I know," she whispered back, kissing his hand softly. "You're my safe place to land."

"And you're mine," he mumbled into the crown of her hair.

And it was true because as he drifted to sleep the darkness around his heart waned and for the first time in weeks he wasn't afraid to fall asleep.


	4. Piece You Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short chapter, Stiles is starting typical therapy and... a kind of supernatural therapy.

The sun coming through his window woke him, tired eyes creaking open. Lydia was tucked into him, still sleeping peacefully. He watched her then, her features soft and delicate as she slept. Stiles pushed back the feelings that began to well to the surface of his mind. This was hardly the time.

 

Extracting himself from her warmth, he went to brush his teeth. He figured he would drop Lydia off at her house on his way to school so she could change. He knew better than to think she would wear her bed clothes to school, much too casual for her.

 

When he returned she was already up and sitting on the edge of his bed. Her green eyes were distant, focused somewhere far away from Stiles’ bedroom.

 

“You wanna brush your teeth here or at home?” He questioned, obviously shaking her out of her thoughts.

 

“Here’s fine. Is that spare toothbrush still in your bathroom?” She had taken to leaving an extra here for mornings like these. It had been a long summer.

 

Stiles nodded affirmatively as she made her way out of the room.

 

Throwing on some jeans and his cougar den t-shirt, he dropped his books into his backpack. He was dreading school. Not because he was too depressed to go or because his classes sucked but because it was the end of junior year.

 

He had taken his SATs and scored higher than he expected which means he was just below Lydia who had received a near perfect score. He had gotten acceptance letters back from the five schools he had applied to: George Washington, NYU, Ohio State, University of Portland, and Beacon Community. Yet he couldn’t think about it, too shell shocked to realize that everything would be changing again.

 

“You okay?” Lydia asked, interrupting his freight train like thoughts.

 

“Mhm, I’m fine.” Stiles replied, shouldering his bag, “Let’s get you home,”

 

She smiled at him lightly and he tried not to grimace in return.

 

He could get through one day. He could absolutely get through one day of class and college questions and Morrel’s probing in his counseling session.

 

Stiles was wrong. Very very wrong. By the time he was in the emissary’s office it was during his last period, his free period and he felt like his skin was going to crawl off his body and back into the comfort of his bed.

 

His anxiety had never been this bad before and the thing that bothered him most is that he didn’t know why.

 

She came in as he tried to will his leg to stop bouncing by sheer force of will.

 

“Stiles…” Morrel murmured, sitting down slowly as if Stiles would shoot up at any moment, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I.. I don’t know. My day wasn’t even that bad! I can’t understand why…” He trailed off, his breath coming quickly.

 

“Breathe, Stiles, breathe.” She commanded, her soft feminine voice turning stern, “Hold onto the arms of your chair and just breathe,”

 

He did as told and was surprised at how quickly it worked. It was as if all of his anxiety bled into the wood of the chair and he felt an odd calm settle over him.

 

Stiles looked at the caramel skinned woman across from him with suspicious eyes.

 

“What the hell was that?” he marveled, “What did you do?”

 

All she did was stare at him with her piercing brown eyes. No explanation came only more questions.

 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” She ventured, her eyes demanding he drop the subject.

 

He could drop it now but she couldn’t really expect him to never bring it up again could she?

 

“Okay… I just. I haven’t been… myself lately as you are well aware seeing as you were the one of many to threaten my life but forgive and forget right? I don’t know… what I’m doing. My anxiety has been through the roof, I’m not sleeping unless someone is there with me, and I’m so angry. I’m so angry all the time,” by the end of it he was panting, hands gripped dangerously tight on his chair.

 

“It sounds like you are dealing with a lot of guilt and grief, Stiles. You’re guilty because of what the Nogitsune used you for. You’re grieving the death of your friend and your own death.”

 

The last part perplexed him and she picked up on it right away.

 

“Stiles, you are not who you once were. The Nogitsune changed you in ways you’re yet to be aware of. Your adolescence was marred by this… creature. He stole that from you,” Her words were acidic and he could tell he wasn’t the only one with a sour taste in his mouth at the memory, “We all know its gone, your boyish innocence and bravado. All of you lost it the night Scott was bitten, the first time Lydia scream, second she stopped breathing. It. Was. Gone.”

 

Morrel’s voice was a soft as cotton when she finished. Stiles couldn’t help his eyes watering because she was right. He didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror because he was no longer the same boy. He wasn’t yet a man, no, but he wasn’t the same boy who went into the woods with Scott years ago.

 

“How do I… How do I live with myself? Now that I barely know who I am… how am I supposed to keep going? I feel like my skin is about to peel off half of the time. It’s like I’m… static. I’m either numb or super sensitive. I can’t find a middle, I just-” She snickered and it caught him off guard, his monologue ending as he looked sharply at her.

 

“You need balance?” She inquired, lips quirking in an amused smile.

 

He couldn’t help the bark of laughter he let out. This was absurd.

 

“Ah the last time you said that to me you were threatening to put me to sleep like a rabid dog.” He felt a bit lighter, laughing in the office he’d had too many serious conversations in.

 

“I think you should go see my brother,” She said seriously, “I think he can help you with what you’re looking for.”

 

Stiles was perplexed to say the least but figured she wouldn’t send him to Deaton unless he really could help.

 

He made to leave but stopped before reaching the doorway.

 

“He’s not gunna try and kill me again is he?” he spoke the question as a joke but there was a small part of him that truly questioned.

 

She shook her head and huffed, “No, Stiles. If I wanted to kill you I would do it my self.”

 

He quirked his eyebrows in a knowing look; she wasn’t wrong.

 

With that he went out to the jeep and headed to the vet that always seemed to hold the answers to his questions.

_________________________________________

 

As soon as he pulled up he immediately felt dread set heavy in his stomach like a pile of lead. Everytime he came to Deaton for answers he never got good news.

 

Cautiously, he made his way to the front door even though he’d been using the backdoor for years now. As expected, Deaton was alerady waiting for him, arms crossed over his white coat covered chest.

 

“Stiles, what can I do for you today?” He asked, a fakeness to his voice that felt like plastic.

 

Frustration made itself a home in his head lately, his patience withering quickly.

 

“Cut the crap,” he snapped, immediately feeling bad for having been so harsh to someone who had helped him so many times, “I’m… sorry that was uncalled for. I just- You know why I’m here. I can hear it in your voice so please just… be straight with me okay?”

 

Deaton seemed to analyze him, making Stiles feel like squirming under his intense gaze. What was he a jigsaw puzzle?

 

“Come on back,” Deaton muttered, opening the swinging door for him.

 

Stiles sighed, relieved that his forwardness wasn’t taken as an insult. He needed to get to the bottom of what was going on with him and he didn’t have time to beat around the bush.

 

Hurrying behind the counter, he entered the backroom of the clinic. This room gave him an odd mix of feelings. Its where he almost watched Derek die when he was hit with Kate’s wolfsbane bullet, the place they came to plan out attacks, the place they came when they were helpless, and the place where he had come to sacrifice himself for his father, allowing the opening into his mind.

 

The other man seemed to see through Stiles quickly, reading his mixture of emotions.

 

“Is it okay if we talk here?” He said carefully.

 

Stiles nodded quickly, pushing the thoughts away like he often did.

 

“Now, I hear you’re having trouble with the… after affects of the Nogitsune,” he waited for Stiles to nod again, “I think I have a solution to your problem. I can’t fully explain it to you just yet-”

 

“Where have I heard that before?” He muttered, eyes rolling of their own accord. Deaton gave him a severe look that silenced him quickly.

 

“As I was saying, I cannot explain why this will work just yet, it’s not time and you’re not ready,” Stiles ears perked up at the man’s words. What did that mean?

 

“It means, Stiles, that sometimes I withhold information until its the proper time for it to be shared,” Wow he needed to work on his brain to mouth filter, “You will understand soon but I need time to gauge the situation so I’m going to need you to trust me, alright?”

 

He was wary, trusting people either got him very far or got him a punch to the gut. Deaton, however, had always been an ally. He never got them into anything they couldn’t get themselves out of.

 

So Stiles made his choice, “Okay. Okay, I’ll trust you,” he said quietly, his voice not holding a lick of the confidence he kind of felt.

 

Deaton nodded, “Okay then, now lets get to work.”

 

Stiles watched as he pulled out a various assortment of bottles with celtic symbols atop them. Confusion rocked through him. What was this supposed to do?

 

“Wait what is this?” he accused quietly, not understanding what was happening.

 

Deaton sighed, “Stiles, your issue is that you do not know who you are anymore and you don’t know how to help anyone, including yourself, when you have no idea how to deal with things, correct?”

 

Begrudgingly he nodded, hating that the man was right.

 

“So I’m going to teach you a new way of helping, a new way of doing things that’s similar to what I was taught,” Deaton’s voice was patient but Stiles could tell he was being calculative, not saying too much too soon.

 

Reluctantly he spoke, “Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet now,” Deaton’s face was skeptical and he tried to feign offense, “I can be quiet! I’ll at least try.”

 

For the next hour Deaton explained every plant on the table, their symbols, and what their purpose was in the supernatural world. There were things he knew already like wolfsbane, mountain ash, and mistletoe but, there were also things he was unaware of. Licorice root was on the table, a sedative in large quantities but mostly used for healing small wounds. Monkshood was on there as well, a form of wolfsbane but it affected more than just werewolves, a multifaceted weapon against unwanted supes.

 

When Deaton put Leichen on the table Stiles cut him off before he could being to speak, “Isn’t that the moss you poisoned me with when I was possessed?”

 

Deaton looked at him carefully, “Yes… it’s used to stifle spirits that have a hold on not only a human soul but a supernatural one. It can be used as a sedative like licorice root but it doesn’t kill like that root does if too much is administered. This, if ingested directly, can cause someone to vomit anything they currently have in their stomach so if you were to be poisoned orally you would be okay after eating this and ridding your system of it. It’s highly poisonous in itself so we handle it with gloves and try not to inhale it too closely.”

 

“I think… I think I’m done for today,” Stiles uttered, sickly memories feeling like they were climbing up the base of his neck.

 

“Stiles, teaching you how to protect yourself and others more efficiently from things you all have yet to see is only part of your recovery,” at Stiles nod of understanding he continued, “I’d like you to keep seeing Morrel once a week. I can help with how you deal with things but she can help with what is going on in your mind. The anxiety can be helped by the things I’ll be teaching you but no one can help you forgive yourself except you.”

 

He felt his bitterness like bile rising in the back of his throat, he swallowed down both the feeling and the taste. “Okay, I’ll keep seeing her. I don’t know if I have a choice really… my dad has already made me appointments for the next month or so.”

 

Deaton smiled, “You’re lucky to have a father like him. I know that you’re aware but I figured I would remind you. Come back in Wednesday afternoon and you can help me with a medley of these herbs I’ve been meaning to make.”

 

“Like a potion!?” Stiles exclaimed, his old curiosity sparked by the offer.

 

Deaton sighed fondly, “No, Stiles. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m no witch?”

 

“But it sounds like a spell to me,” He said quickly.

 

“It’s similar but it’s organic and completely based in thought and practice. Don’t even think about it, I’m not teaching you witchcraft. Now go home, your dad will be expecting you,” Deaton said quickly, obviously not wanting to get into that conversation just yet.

 

The bitterness he had been tasting dissipated with the easy conversation. Even the smile he wore as he hopped into the Jeep was authentic.


	5. Of Effigies and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a breakthrough in regards to their fight against the berserkers and the pack spends the full moon together. Some Stiles and Lydia fluff towards the end... make of it what you will ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters are often un-beta'd and copy-edited by me. I am in search for a beta however so if anyone is interested let me know!

It had been two weeks since his first session with Deaton and Stiles was getting restless. Sure, the emissary like therapy was helping. He felt secure in the pack and what he now brought to the table; Deaton was even letting him mix herbs on his own now, making his own defenses and offenses instead of the textbook like things Deaton had been teaching him.

 

Yet, even with Deaton’s teaching and Morrel pushing him toward a breakthrough, he still felt like he was going to jump out of his skin at any moment. He felt charged now more than ever since he was sleeping somewhat regularly but besides bits of Deaton’s training he had no outlet.

 

The fact that the search for the Berserkers was going terribly wasn’t helping. The gang of them had been quiet for weeks, waiting for who knew what.

 

It was a Friday when Stiles finally made a breakthrough in Morrel’s office. Not a breakthrough with himself, no those walls were still firmly erect, but in the investigation of their new threat.

 

“It’s like the Kanima,” he murmured mid-rant.

 

He had just been talking about how he hated that Jackson was probably the only person who fully understood what he had been through. Sure he had actually become something instead of an evil doppelganger but his whole purpose was to be used and controlled as Stiles had been by the Nogitsune.

 

Then it hit him, the pattern of their enemies. One way or another someone in the pack was always being used.

 

Allison by Kate, Jackson by Matt and Gerard, Derek by Jennifer and every other girl he’s ever slept with really, Scott by Deucallion, and Stiles by the Nogitusne. What if this time no one in the pack was being used but the berserkers. These ferocious men were not their real enemy.

 

“Someone’s controlling them,” He said louder as he looked up at Morrel, “Berserkers do they typically act alone or do they need a guide?”

 

“Not necessarily,” she said, understanding coming across her honeyed features, “They are able to act alone but they can also be controlled though its rare.”

 

“But it can happen,” he pushed. She nodded affirmatively and he got up and started pacing, “If they were acting alone they’d be more frantic, less organized, right? With a leader, a master, they’d have a purpose, just not their own.”

 

He was panting when he came to a stop at the window. Standing there was Derek Hale.

 

“Do his stalker tendencies never cease?” he mumbled, grabbing his bag, “I’m being summoned it seems and I really need to go tell Scott this. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

 

Stiles heard her yell out his next appointment time as he ran toward the side door. As predicted, there was Derek the second he opened said door, causing Stiles to flail gracefully.

 

“Holy God, can you warn a guy!” He yelped in an entirely manly way.

 

Derek gave him a rather sarcastic smirk and started walking toward the jeep. So pushy.

 

“What did you find out? I could hear your heart jackrabbiting from here,” Derek asked, going to stand on the passenger side of Stiles’ car.

 

“I think I figured something out about the berserkers, I need you to call Scott like now,” he started the car but caught himself, “Wait, how long have you been out here?”

 

Derek just swung his head to look at him and rose a questioning brow.

 

“Have you been following me, you weirdo?” Stiles eyes turned to accusing slits as he spoke, full interrogation voice on now.

 

They sat there in one of their patented staring contests before Derek finally sighed and looked away. Stiles almost smiled at how good he’s gotten at winning those over the years. Almost.

 

“Yes I was following you, idiot, now can you please drive,” he snarled, obviously annoyed at being caught.

 

Stiles tilted his head inquisitively, “Why are you following me? I go to school, I go to Deaton’s, I go to Scott’s, I go home, what’s so exciting.” Dereks ears shone pink at Stiles’ questions, his face stubbornly set in a tight mask, “Are you concerned about my well being!?”

 

All he got in return was a grit of teeth and a flash of blue, lupine eyes telling him to drive the damn car.

 

“Hmm,” he hummed as he pulled out of his spot, “You’re so worried about me it’s so odd. See you slam me around and yell at me but really you’re just concerned! That’s so sweet, Derek, you secret teddy bea-”

 

A hard smack to the back of his head shut him up but Stiles snickered anyway. Sourwolf was getting so soft in his old age.

 

The drive to Scott’s was short and he saw Derek’s ears perk up a bit right before Scott came running around the corner on all fours. How could that be comfortable? Stiles questioned his werewolf friends so often.

 

“What’d you find?” Scott exclaimed, the nights full moon already making him excitable.

 

“Well, one Derek’s been stalking me- ow!” another swift hit to his skull, “Anyways, I figured out that they’re not acting alone. They’re just pawns like all of us have been before. Someone has been using them to get to one of us or all of us… Deaton and Morrel both confirmed it’s possible for berserkers to be controlled but it would have to take… a lot.”

 

The two wolves stared at him in shock when he’d finished.

 

“What does that mean? Does this person have to be supernatural? Humans can’t control berserkers… it’s not possible.” Derek stuttered, his eyes on the ground under his scrunched up eyebrows.

 

“I think we need to research it some more, see what someone would need to do… or be to be able to control them,” Scott said, his alpha voice on in full effect.

 

Stiles nodded, “I’m on it, buddy.”

 

“I’ll help you,” Derek said, “My family has a lot of rare books on these kinds of creatures. Berserkers have been around for centuries. Whatever this person...” Stiles could hear Derek sounding out the word oddly like it didn’t quite fit, “Whatever they’re doing, controlling them, they’re using old magic.”

 

He thought about making another joke but simply nodded.

 

“I think we should hold off, at least for tonight,” Scott offered, “The full moon already has me antsy and it’s starting to affect everyone else too. Deaton was telling me about this pack in Oregon he knows who run together on the full moons in their local forest. Maybe we can all go to the preserve tonight? Run out some energy before hanging out?”

 

Stiles smiled proudly and Derek nodded, surprisingly eager. When Derek had been an alpha he was at a place in his life where he was still intensely closed off from people so he showed care through training and doing what was necessary for his pack.

 

Scott has a different, softer approach. He’s still stern with everyone when he needs to be but he’s much more intune to pack dynamics and the importance of the bond they all have, even more so since Allison. So he would organize movie nights, homework parties, sleepovers, anything really.

 

Stiles loved it now that he felt more integrated and useful to them. When they’d first started doing them it had been very soon after Allison's funeral so they were somber events filled with stories and hugs. Stiles had sat in the corner, getting more drunk and angry with every story till Lydia would have to drive him home.

 

This would be the first pack night he would really get to enjoy. He hated to admit it but even he felt the full moons pull somehow, the packs energy bleeding into his human form he guessed.

 

“I’m gunna go take a nap then!” he continued, “Gotta keep up with you mutts tonight. Get in, sourwolf, I’ll give you a ride.”

 

“Shut up, Stiles,” was Derek’s only reply.

 

Scott shook his head at them and with a wave he retreated into his house as the two of them drove away.

__________________________________________

 

The scent of dinner was wafting into his room when Stiles woke from his nap. His stomach growled and he figured it was time to get up.

 

He knew the night would get cool so he threw some basketball shorts on under his cross country sweats and a white tee shirt. Packing his overnight stuff in a drawstring with a water bottle and some vodka for after the run, he made his way downstairs.

 

Padding into their kitchen, he found his dad setting out burgers and curly fries on the table.

 

“Ughhh you read my mind,” Stiles groaned.

 

Immediately, he sat down and started eating. After a minute or so he looked up, food hanging out of his mouth. His dad was staring at him with an odd smile on his face.

 

“What?” he mumbled through his food.

 

“Nothing,” the Sheriff murmured as he sat down, “It’s just… It’s good to see you eating and talking and out of your room. I don’t wanna jinx anything but it just seems like things are turning around for you.”

 

The man waved a hand in dismissal after slyly trying to wipe at his watery eyes.

 

“Thank you, Dad,” Stiles marvelled at his fathers emotion.

 

They clasped hands for a moment before digging back into their food.

 

As soon as they finished Stiles made his way to the preserve, wishing his dad a good night and that he’d see him in the morning probably.

 

He stared at the moon as he drove. A strange feeling coming over him, something in the pit of his stomach like a tug on his diaphragm. Something in him was serenading the moon.

 

When he pulled up next to Derek and Lydia’s cars, he practically jumped out onto the pavement.

 

“You okay?” Lydia questioned, sounding not quite concerned but close enough to it to make Stiles answer quickly.

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine! Just a lot of energy,” he assured.

 

He was shocked at their turn out. The whole pack was there: Scott, Lydia, Isaac, Derek, Kira. Even the new member, Liam, whom Scott unfortunately bit to save him from a Wendgio attack. He was growing on Stiles since his freshman arrogance had begun to fade.

 

“Okay, everybody,” Scott began, eyes a honeyed red, “Don’t stray too far from the pack and we’ll meet back here when everyone’s done. Stiles and Lydia will head to the clearing by the old coyote dens if they get tired and to make sure no one goes to close to the cliff. Wrestling is fine, even with them, but just be wary of your own strength.”

 

Stiles was surrounded by glowing eyes and supernatural energy, a place he loved to be. He felt safe and secure with those surrounding him, his pack.

 

“Let’s go,” he urged, breaking into a sprint before any of them could catch him.

 

Howls erupted behind him and he actually laughed at how giddy he felt. Soon Isaac and Scott were flanking either side of him and he felt all of his energy begin to focus and expand.

 

They ran off the path and into the woods then, Stiles falling back so that Scott was the head now. Taking off through the trees, he wound past trunks and bushes in a zig zagging pattern.

 

Kira and Lydia ran together behind the boys, challenging one another to go faster. Kira wasn’t as fast as the wolves but her speed was still unnaturally like lightning, a true sprinter, but she always toned it down when running with Lydia to make sure the banshee was never left behind.

 

Liam veered off on his own but within earshot of the wolves, howling every now and again to signal where he was.

 

All Stiles could see of Derek were his eyes in the darkness. He ran to Stiles left, full shifted form hidden in the brush.

 

After Kate’s reappearance and attempt at Derek’s life, he had evolved to her dismay. He came back stronger in every way and with a brand new wolf form. Now on full moons or really whenever he pleased Derek was a jet black, shaggy wolf dog.

 

Stiles even found out that wolf Derek was just as expressive and secretly enjoyed being scratched behind the ears even though his human self would never admit to it.

 

After Allison’s death, Stiles would often see the dog roaming around the perimeter of his house; Scott and Lydia would spot him watching over them as well. Derek never said how much he cared for them but he always showed them in his own, somewhat creepy, ways.

 

“You’re so slow, old man,” Stiles yelled over to the wolf, Scott and Isaac cackling as they ran.

 

He could tell they slowed down for him as he burst ahead and he didn’t feel babied or weak, he felt alive. Running through the trees he felt as if no one could touch him, like he was being fueled by something he couldn’t even understand.

 

That was until he was tackled to the ground by the wolf he often referred to as a geriatric just to piss him off. Soon Isaac and Scott were on top of him as well in a full on dog pile.

 

They’d reached the clearing, all of them entrenched in the moonlight. Lydia and Kira laughed at them while sitting down in the grass. Someone briefly saw Liam go to the edge of the ravine, looking out at the moon.

 

The rest of the boys wrestled together on the grass, Stiles laughing as the wolves tossed him about. They weren’t gentle with him, their claws scratching him every now and again, but they were cautious not to let the moon sway their strength too far.

 

Derek soon retreated from the wrestling match, choosing to lay down panting with his head on Lydia’s lap.

 

It was not long until all they were doing was laying on the ground kicking at each other every now and again, all too tired to continue playing.

 

“Get up you lazy, wolf boys!” Lydia jeered playfully, “We have a surprise for you.”

 

All ears, supernatural and non, perked at that. Lydia’s surprises were always interesting so all the boys got up and followed Lydia and Kira back into the forest.

 

They walked for maybe fifteen minutes, all the wolves on high alert. Isaac and Scott trailed closely behind the banshee, eyes shining unnaturally as they scanned the darkness.

 

Derek trotted behind the group, Stiles walking closely to him. They were always getting into shit together, it didn’t matter if they originally weren’t together they always ended up saving each other in the end. So they began embracing it, gravitating towards one another on nights where trouble found the pack.

 

So naturally, Stiles fell in step with the wolf. Each of them covering either side of the group while looking behind themselves from time to time. It wa a good system that worked well, they somehow seemed to always be in sync though they butted heads the first year they’d known each other.

 

Soon they came to another clearing that was obviously alight, bathed in what seemed like firelight. Stiles looked over at Derek with a confused look, one the wolf mirrored with his perked ears and slightly tilted head.

 

What Stiles had guessed was right, in the middle of the clearing was a large bonfire circled by rocks to keep the fire in its own space.

 

“I had the Sheriff and Melissa come light it for us when we got to the clearing. I figured we could celebrate the last night of summer with a bonfire!” Lydia said excitedly, in her hands were scraps of paper and pens, “Kira and I thought it would be a good idea to burn effigies. They can been anything or anyone you want to let go of, it can be a part of yourself, or something that you’ve been holding onto.” She quickly peered over at Stiles when she said this, making his heart squeeze in his chest.

 

“Everyone come and take a paper and write something. Once you’re ready, throw it into the fire and go grab a drink!” Kira exclaimed, “You too, Derek.”

 

She nodded knowingly at him and he feigned annoyance, trotting into the bushes to shift.

 

One by one they all came to Lydia, grabbing a paper and writing the thing they wished most to burn. Stiles sat there on a log thinking. He could write the nogitsune, he could write Allison’s death, he could draw a picture of Malia. Any of these options were things he wanted to burn.

 

Scott and Isaac were the first to come forward, burning their papers together then embracing in a tight hug. Stiles knew what they had written, everyone did. Lydia burned hers soon after, wiping a tear away from her face as she retreated from the fire.

 

Kira and Liam went next, then Derek slowly emerged from the bushes to burn his. His face was in its usual state but it was like the mask had cracked. Stiles could see his eyes wrinkling sadly, his hands balled into fists as he went to sit down.

 

There were so many things Stiles regretted, so many things he wished he could change. Seeing everyone burn their scraps of guilt and pain reminded him of Morrel and something she had said to him that week.

 

“Mistakes and regrets don’t have to define you, Stiles. Everyone has them but not everyone lets them control their life. All they are is dead weight, holding you back from moving forward. You can’t change them, you can’t go back. All you can do is let go of them. All you can do is keep living,” she had said seriously, “If you let them consume you, the nogitsune may as well still be in your head because he’s still controlling you.”

 

This could be the step he needed to take, a step towards letting go. So he wrote it all down. He scribbled drawings of a fly to represent the nogitsune, an arrow for Allison, a moon for Malia and a small wolf for the death of his and Scott’s adolescence the night he was bitten. Everything that haunted him but he couldn’t change.

 

Lastly, he drew a stack of books for his mom. The person who taught him to read, encouraged his insatiable intellect, and the one who left the largest hole in his heart.

 

His walk to the fire felt glacial but soon he was standing in front of it and dropping the paper in. He kept track of it until it curled in on itself and turned to ashes beneath the coals.

 

A part of him felt lighter as he stared down at the fire. He knew he wasn’t going to forget any of it, that he would never forget Allison or his mother. Hopefully, he would let go of the guilt and pain that every one of the drawings held. Hopefully those would burn their way out of his soul with time.

 

Scott was next to him with a beer, shaking him out of his reverie.

 

“You okay?” the alpha murmured softly, concern imbedded in his voice.

 

“Mhm, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Stiles said slowly, surprised that he actually was okay. The truth falling off his tongue without his permission, the usual bitter taste of a lie in his mouth absent for once.

 

He took the beer from him and took a swig, it tasted… odd.

 

“Is there wolfsbane in this?” he questioned, not knowing exactly how he knew what it was.

 

“Yeah,” Scott said, his face breaking into an easy smile, “Only a little bit! We don’t want any flashbacks to Lydia’s birthday last year. It’s just a little to help the wolves get there. For those who can get drunk… it’s cost effective!”

 

Stiles let out a bark of laughter, already feeling a little buzzed after half a beer. Yep, this wouldn’t take long.

________________________________________________________________

 

For the next hour or so they played music probably too loudly and laughed more than they had in months. Even Derek got a little drunk to everyone’s excitement. Throwing smiles at everyone with ease, making Stiles a little wobbly on his legs in the process.

 

Scott and Kira were curled up with each other as they all chatted lightly, murmuring to each other every now and again. Stiles loved seeing Scott happy again and with someone who understood him, understood them.

 

Lydia had her head on Stiles’ shoulder, his hand lightly sitting on her knee. She had made a home there the whole night.

 

After so many years, she was still the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. His feelings had altered to a state he really didn’t know. He was obviously still attracted to her but his emotional feelings were confusing at best. Besides Scott, she was his best friend. They were each other’s rocks and he didn’t know if either of them were willing to jeopardize that.

 

Liam was soon puking into the bushes, his drunken ego clouding his judgement on just how strong the wolfsbane was when practically inhaled. Isaac and Derek drunkenly stood and nodded to one another through fits of giggles while they retrieved the freshman. Derek Hale could giggle. Stiles was shocked.

 

“We’re gunna take him home,” he slurred slightly, Isaac nodding a little too enthusiastically, “You guys okay?”

 

“Mmh,” Lydia hummed, drunk and content by the fire.

 

Stiles laughed lightly, “Yeah we’re good, thanks Der,” he hadn’t known the nickname would sound normal coming from him but it suited the drunk man standing before him.

 

With that, they stumbled off with Liam, his arms draped over either of the wolves shoulders.

 

“You almost ready to go, drunky?” Stiles teased Lydia, watching her eyes droop slightly, “You seem exhausted and Scott and Kira look like they need… some alone time.”

 

Stiles tried not to watch as Kira straddled the alphas lap, kissing him ferociously. They did this when they got drunk; it was like they were the complete opposite of their awkward, anti-PDA selves.

 

“Oh gross!” Lydia shrieked before bursting into a full-belly laugh. “Yeah let’s go home.”

 

Stiles nodded and rose to his feet. He went to offer her a hand but immediately retracted, “Oh sweet baby Jesus I’m drunk. You may wanna get up on your own in case I lose my balance”

 

Don’t continuously drink sitting down, kids. They retreated from the clearing, throwing sticks at Scott and Kira on their way.

 

Lydia wobbled on her own feet as well, looking just as much the baby deer as Stiles. Their boisterous laughter ricocheted off the trees as they trampled their way through the woods; Stiles would come for his car in the morning. In the mean time, they made their way through the back entrance of Lydia’s house.

 

Her house, like Derek’s, sat on the edge of the woods. No lights were on as they approached.

 

“Wheere’s your mom?” he mumbled.

 

Lydia sniffed in obvious disdain, “She’s gone for the weekend with her new beau. They’ve been spending a gross amount of time together.”

 

“Now, Lyds, don’t sound too bitter there.” he snickered, draping an arm around her small shoulders as they made their way into the house.

 

It was dark and warm, the windows being shut all day kept in the sun’s heat. Stiles was feeling drained from the run under the moon and his drunken high was beginning to wear off.

 

“Mmhm whatever. I’m sleepy…” She trailed off, turning to face him with her back to their grand staircase, “Wanna sleep over?”

 

“Absolutely! Let’s go before the room starts to spin.” Stiles replied, leaping up the stairs two at a time.

 

Lydia clambered up after him muttering under her breath; something about jumping around not helping stave off the spins but he was much too focused on getting to Lydia’s big bed to pay her words any mind.

 

He dove on to the bed with a contented groan. Lydia fell in after him, the two of them hurrying their shoes off and scurrying under the covers.

 

She giggled and ruffled his hair lightly, “Tonight was fun! I’m glad we did it.”

 

“I know! I actually felt genuinely happy tonight,” he remarked, “It’s been a long time since I felt that.”

 

Lydia’s hand grabbed his hand, running her thumb back and forth across his skin.

 

“It means the world to hear that, Stiles. You had me… concerned for a moment.” she replied, relief filling her voice.

 

They had all been worried the guilt of everything would get to him and make him do something stupid. He could see it in their eyes when they looked at him though it had started to fade the past few weeks. Him being more involved and his little speech at the loft seemed to put them at ease but he caught Scott studying him from time to time, like he was checking how much weight could be put on a broken table after repairs.

 

“I’m not going to say that I’m better, not even close,” he chuckled quietly, “But I am feeling somewhat okay. Helping with Deaton is nice and Morrel isn’t exactly hurting things even though she tends to give me more questions than answers,”

 

“Well that’s your job not hers, Stiles,” Lydia countered, “The only person who can answer the questions you have about yourself is you.”

 

“I know, I know.” he whispered. He could feel Lydia getting concerned and the last of his drunkenness caused him to laugh lightly.

 

“What’s so funny!?” she squealed.

 

“You!” he blurted through giggles, “To think at one point you had no idea who I was and now here we are in your bed with you being worried for my well-being. I truly have reached the top.”

 

She scoffed as he jokingly brushed his shoulders cockily.

 

“I’ve always known who you were, idiot. You were just so obvious it hurt,” another fit of giggles hit her when he feigned offense.

 

“Me!? I am not obvious. Ever. I’m the most covert person there is!” Stiles insisted even though he knew that was absurd. The last thing he had been was subtle.

 

“You do realize you’ve never even asked me out right?” she added.

 

It was true. He’d always been too scared to have his heart broken, so sure she would say no.

 

“Well you would have said no!” he retorted, flailing a hand about.

 

Lydia snickered quietly, “Maybe but only because you didn’t even know me and you were in love with me! Well, you knew me better than I thought you did. That night at the formal was the first time I realized that,” she offered, “You are quite observant. Your ability to read people is astounding.”

 

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said in a poor Elvis impression they both laughed loudly at. When he caught his breath he asked something he had been wondering, “What if I asked you now? Would your answer be different?”

 

He could tell she was pondering in the silent minute that passed and he was surprised he wasn’t apologizing for asking already or riddled with embarrassment. They really had come a long way.

 

“I don’t really know what my answer would be, to be honest.” she said truthfully, “Would you still ask me?”

 

He thought his answer would be yes. His former self would have hit him for hesitating but he honestly couldn’t say he was as sure as he had expected himself to be.

 

“I’m not sure,” he confessed, “After Jackson becoming a were and all we went through when you were with Aiden we became actual friends, like best friends. At first I think I wanted to do it so maybe we could have that friends to lovers type story, you know?”

 

She nodded. His eyes had adjusted to the room and he could see that she was genuinely curious.

 

“Don’t get me wrong the biggest part of me wanted to get to know you for you not just because of my feelings for you. Yet, now that it worked and we’re here I almost forget my original intentions. It’s like I friendzoned myself! Now that we have this incredible relationship I don’t know if I would want to jeopardize it or if it would be too weird if we broke up,” he finished quietly. Stiles was shocked he was being so honest but he had definitely been thinking about it since Malia and he broke up.

 

“I completely understand and I think I’m in the same place,” she told him sleepily, “I felt it when I would see you with Malia, the jealousy.”

 

Stiles felt his eyes widen and she laughed lightly.

 

“Yes, Stiles, I was jealous. Would you like a medal?” she quipped, “Actually don’t answer that. Anyway. I could never tell if I was jealous because I felt more and was seeing what I had passed up or if it was the vain jealousy of seeing someone who was once infatuated with you lose interest.”

 

He pondered that for a moment, “I honestly don’t know how I feel in that regard but, I can say I’m not consumed by it or waiting on it. Lyds, you’re my best friend. We have been through so much together in the past few years. The only thing I want is for you to be in my life,” Stiles put an arm around her and pulled her to his chest, “I don’t care how you’re in it, just as long as you’re here with me.”

 

“Right back atcha, batman,” she agreed.

 

Lydia was the only person he had told about Erica confessing a crush on him and his retort when she threatened him, about him being the batman to her catwoman. He told her the night Derek had found Erica’s body in the vault. All he could hear in his ears was her telling him he made a good batman. She had made one hell of a catwoman. Stiles’ heart ached at the memory of her. They had grown to be bantering buddies, unsuspecting comrades even when Scott and Derek were at odds. He cared for her and she him but it was a silent fact that he wished he had said to her more often.

 

“I’m holding auditions for a catwoman, wanna try your hand?” he sighed, the alcohol in his system beckoning him towards unconsciousness.

 

“I could easily kick your ass, Stiles, and in heels,” she drawled, laughing into his shirt as she cuddled into him.

 

“You’re hired!” he croaked before sleep took the pair of them.

 

Erica visited him in his dreams that night. Her golden hair fell almost to her tailbone and she looked happier than ever. She reminded him that batman had his dark days too. All heros have to fall at some point. It was up to them to either get up and live to fight another day or to surrender to their nemesis or the world or even to their own misery. It was up to them whether the story ended or not.

 

 


	6. Toil and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real threat is revealed along with a part of Stiles he didn't know was there. Enjoy!

Since his realization about the berserkers, Stiles had been spending most of his time in the Hale vault pouring over the hundreds of books stored there. Derek’s family had an exhaustive collection on every supernatural being and event under the sun. Stiles had no idea there was so much history behind the world that he had been thrown into. He still knew so little about it.

 

It was a Tuesday afternoon when he found something that could mean everything to their problems. When Kate had returned, she immediately went after Derek and the pack and with Peter’s help. For Peter it was all an attempt to regain his power from Scott, or the “usurper” as he so kindly named him. For Kate it had been something about control. They had even followed her all the way down to Mexico where she had kidnapped Scott and Kira. That’s where Derek had almost died and the place they had last seen Kate.

 

She, like Jackson, did not make the full transformation to werewolf but into something that reflected herself. She had somehow turned into a werejaguar, unable to control her shift like the rest of them and a more volatile creature.

 

When she had seen that Derek evolved instead of dying she took off and Chris Argent was hot on her heels. The place they had been was called La Iglesia, or the Church.

 

Stiles would never forget the dilapidated structure, the blown out windows, and crumbling walls. In a book on supernatural happenings in Mexico, there was a picture of that very church. He sat up straight as he read the text on the page. Their problems were getting worse by the minute.

 

Lydia, who was idly turning the page of an old spell book, noticed him startling.

 

“Stiles,” she said cautiously, “Stiles, what is it? What did you find?”

 

His mouth was open in an ‘O’ like a fish but no words came out.

 

“Stiles!” Lydia yelled, shaking him out of his panic.

 

“I-I need to talk to Deaton. Now.” he muttered urgently, “Keep looking but look at the books over there on witches and the spell books. Anything on them and their connection to the berserkers. I’ll text Kira for her to come down to help you. I have to go, Lyds.”

 

“Be careful!” she yelled at his retreating back.

 

He could barely hear her over his own heartbeat. This was not what they were expecting at all. Was there ever going to be a situation where they weren’t completely out of their depth?

 

After running a few stop lights and illegally parking the jeep, he scrambled into the clinic through the backdoor.

 

Thankfully Scott was there working so he wouldn’t have to have this conversation twice. He could see the question of What’s going on? forming in his best friend’s mind.

 

Deaton turned to him from the x-ray board and smiled, “Stiles! I thought you were coming in tomorrow-”

 

“I think it’s time for you to tell me about witchcraft,” he huffed out, “The church in Mexico, La Iglesia, it’s a notorious place that old school witches gather. And by old school I mean purists.”

 

Deaton’s face was stern, his mouth in a hard line. His silence and Scott’s shocked face were all he needed to keep going.

 

“By purists I mean that they believe witches are like the physical embodiment of mother Earth. They see themselves as the highest point on the supernatural food chain and think that other supernaturals exist simply to serve them.” The vet’s lack of confirmation was infuriating so he smacked the examination in frustration and the sound rang out so hard Scott squinted. “Is there anything I’m missing here?!” he roared.

 

“Stiles, calm down.” Deaton cautioned, his face full of concern as he looked down at Stiles’ shaking hands.

 

His eyes saw the table out of the corner of his eye and he noticed his hand print there. Stiles stared at it in shock. Did he do that? How did he do that? What was going on with him? How the-

 

“Stiles!” Deaton yelled, seeming like he had been calling the teen for some time. “I will tell you about witchcraft but first you need to know that this is dangerous stuff to be involved in.”

 

“More dangerous than what already lurks around here?” Scott asked, seeming frustrated with yet another new threat.

 

Deaton nodded and sighed, “For centuries, covens of witches were in every city and town across the globe. They more or less ran the supernatural communities. In the 1900s a divide began to form in the witches cirlces. Some witches believed in equality and harmony among magical beings. They believe the world to be a give and take, whereas their counterparts believed it should be the witches taking and everyone else giving. Witches are incredibly powerful given their natural born gift of magic and connection to not only the supernatural but nature.”

 

“What kind of connection to the supernatural?” Stiles questioned, distracted from his earlier panic by the new information.

 

The man was searching for the words carefully, Stiles could sense it. “Everyone has a bit of magic in them. Most people never notice it and it’s never acted on out of sheer ignorance of the fact that magic and the supernatural even exist. After a while, that bit of magic usually disappears. For those who were aware... they began acting on it. Druids, shamans, even psychics are vast examples depending on the person's innate magical ability and how much of their spark they use.”

 

Their ears perked at the word and Deaton saw the curiousness plain on their faces. For some reason he ignored it, giving them more about their new threat instead.

 

“Well witches don’t have that small spark, though small bits of magic can be grown, it’s kind of like an inferno of magic. Nature seemingly doled out more ability to them and it gives them a sense of entitlement. The first witches were the ones to advise the gods in so many of the world’s myths; some cultures even see them as the creators of the many supernatural beings we see today.”

 

“So because they were given more magic than anyone else and because they decided to play god and create supes they think they have a right to their services?” Stiles accused, disgusted at the notion.

 

“Well, yes, but not all of them which is what brought about the fractures in the witch community. Many witches are emissaries or they lay low within small covens. Witchcraft isn’t practiced very widely anymore now that normals are becoming more observant,” Deaton put on a wry smile then continued, “However, there are still groups of purists, as you called them. They usually keep their beliefs quiet unless a pack or family of supes tries to make them help in some ordeal or conflict.”

 

“So what about the witches that practiced in La Iglesia?” Scott wondered, “Could they have been the ones to screw with Kate’s transformation? The Caleveras were so sure she was on her way to turning before she had escaped… or before someone took her.”

 

Grimly, Deaton nodded to him, “With this new information, it would seem that Kate may have been a pawn herself. I don’t believe she would have turned into a werewolf without their meddling but they could have taken advantage of her search for control. There are still witches who gather there every month and as far as I know… their leader is a staunch purist.” He was contemplating something as he spoke, “My contacts in the Portland area will know what she’s up to… they try and make sure they know where she is.”

 

“Why? What is so important about this particular witch?” Stiles blurted, his frustration returning.

 

Deaton made a noncommittal noise, obviously trying to avoid Stiles’ question.

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he growled, “You’re still gunna be secretive after telling us all of that?! Jesus!”

 

“Okay! Just calm down,” Deaton replied, seemingly nervous. “This woman… Eva, she’s known for taking any opportunity to teach supernaturals a lesson, put them in their place. She could have easily been using Kate. Eva is extremely powerful and her magic is old. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kate’s arrogance caught Eva’s attention. Werejaguars are similar to Kanima in the way of being easily manipulated. Since they have very little control Eva could have tricked Kate into thinking she was the one in charge and that she was the key to achieving perfect control.”

 

“Would she be able to control berserkers?” Scott spoke suddenly, resolve forming in his eyes. They both knew the answer that was coming.

 

“Yes. It’s entirely possible.” Deaton admitted sadly, “I have to call my friend, I’ll have to see you two a different time. If this really is Eva.. then we need to act quickly.”

 

The boys nodded solemnly. Stiles felt anger bubbling in his veins but he tried his best to shake it off. Scott grabbed his bag and they made their way to the door before Deaton called to them.

 

“And Stiles?” he hollered, “Come a little early tomorrow.”

 

He nodded affirmatively but was confused at the request. Deaton knew he saw Morrel beforehand and he thought it odd he would take him out of his session early but he decided to ignore the niggling feeling in his gut.

 

That night he tossed and turned in bed, the feeling of someone watching him strong in the back of his mind.

____________________________________________

 

The next day was stressful to say the least. His attention had been improving since he started his recovery. Yet, he couldn’t sit still and his mood was all over the place. He would be lost in thought, paranoid at some moments but would snap at the smallest question. Lydia had actually refused to deal with him for twenty-four hours after he practically bit her head off when she acknowledged that he had messed up a calculus problem.

 

What was wrong with him? The vision of the vet table came back to him after being put on the back burner in favor of the witch stories. How had he done that? He was strong but not Scott strong. His hand should have hurt but it hadn’t even felt like he hit the table that hard or even at all.

 

By the time he ended up in Morrel’s office he was silent and terse, chewing the end of his pen to shreds.

 

“You seem… preoccupied.” Morrel said. Her sage voice usually calmed him but in his state it only sounded condescending.

 

He rolled his eyes but stayed silent. His mind was an hour into the future at his session with Deaton. Had he seen what Stiles did? Does he once again know what’s going on and not telling him?

 

“Stiles?” Morrel called to him.

 

“Yes?” he blurted quickly, his mood quickly switching to feeling like he was in an interrogation room.

 

“Maybe we should hold this session at my brother’s office,” she offered, “It seems your mind is there anyway and maybe this would be easier with him there.”

 

His brow furrowed in a question he didn’t feel the need to voice.

 

“It’ll make more sense when we get there. I’ll follow you.” and with that she grabbed her bag and keys and glided out of the office.

 

“What the hell is going on?!” he babbled to himself, picking his bag up and fishing out his keys.

 

On the drive over he kept looking in his rear view mirror at Morrel’s sleek car closely following him. Why did she think Deaton’s presence would make this better?

 

He pulled into the Clinic’s lot and quickly parked. Whatever it was they were doing needed to be made clear to him before he exploded.

 

Morrel was next to him the moment he hopped out of the car and shut the door. Once they walked in they saw her brother sitting there at the reception. His eyes flickered to them both before he nodded and opened the swinging door to let them in.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Morrel flip the open sign to closed. Stiles’ stomach flipped as a flashback to Eichen house played in his mind.

 

“You’re not going to euthanize me are you?” he croaked, fear lacing his voice.

 

Morrel smirked and looked to her brother who simply shook his head in reply.

 

She began ushering him forward into the back, “That’s not an answer you know. That’s not reassuring. Like at all!”

 

He scurried out of her grasp and to one end of the room as they took up posts at the opposite side.

 

“So…?” he began. They were the most cryptic people he had ever met; it drove him absolutely bonkers.

 

“Stiles, we should talk openly about the training you’ve been receiving here with my brother,” Morrel stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“Has it been helping with your sense of helplessness and hyper vigilance?” Deaton inquired, hand playing at his chin in thought.

 

“I mean yeah. I feel… more able and more protected than I did before.” he mumbled, “I mean who knew you could completely paralyze someone with about ten different plants, amiright?”

 

“How has your energy been? Your anger?” Morrel asked, more up to date on his daily emotional rollercoaster than anyone.

 

“I guess… I guess it’s been okay. I do have a lot more energy since I started coming to you two,” he wondered, “My anger has been…”

 

“Sporadic?” Deaton finished.

 

Stiles nodded, his lips in a tight line. He was so fucking transparent sometimes.

 

“Is it easily controlled? Or do you kind of feel like a live wire when you’re angry or energized?” Deaton asked again, looking as if he were putting pieces together in his mind.

 

“Y-yeah, I mean yeah. That sounds about right,” he stammered. His paranoia got the best of him, “Am I possessed again?”

 

“No, Stiles, this is you. This is just you,” Morrel assured him though he wasn’t feeling so reassured.

 

“Okay…” he murmured, puzzled at the situation, “Then why are you asking me all these questions and looking at me like I’m about to explode?”

 

“Remember, our talk yesterday about witchcraft?” Deaton suggested, “Do you remember what I said about everyone having a bit of magic in them?”

 

“Yeah… but what does that have to do with me?” he said quizzically, already not liking where this was going.

 

Deaton hesitated, opening his mouth then closing it with an audible snap. Morrel looked at him in exasperation.

 

“Alan, spit it out,” she snapped, flicking her hair behind her shoulder in impatience, reminding him of Lydia when he would ramble for too long.

 

“Stiles we have begun to believe that… you may have a larger bit than other humans,” he explained nervously, “I questioned it when I had you make the mountain ash border that night at the rave but when the nogitsune possessed you… I questioned more.”

 

They were both staring at him like he was ticking and would explode any minute. Stiles himself likened his current state to that of a computer that has too many programs running at once. His brain was lagging over all the information flooding into it.

 

“You see, the nogitsune chose you not only for your vast knowledge and your already hindered heart but also because you have that magic. It makes you more sensitive and well… susceptible to supernatural manipulation if you aren’t aware of it,” Deaton trailed off when Morrel put a hand to his arm.

 

“Stiles,” she said but no answer came. He was about to shut down or snap he didn’t know, “Stiles.” she insisted.

 

All he could do was look at her, feeling so small in that moment. How does someone compute that? He had been chosen because he had magic. Magic he had no idea he had but somehow the nogitsune knew it and took advantage of it.

 

“What are you thinking, Stiles?” Morrel murmured, “Where’ve you gone?”

 

“So the anger… the energy… it’s all been because of this…,” he didn’t even know what to call it, “Spark? You called it a spark?”

 

Deaton nodded, “Yes, it’s just a term used in supernatural circles for someone that isn’t exactly a witch but has more magic than an average human. You’re on the low end since your spark hasn’t been fully acted on-”

 

“I don’t want it,” he gulped, “I don’t want this… I don’t want magic. I’m supposed to be the human, the normal one, in this clusterfuck of supernatural bull shit!”

 

“Stiles calm down,” Morreal cautioned, “You need to get your anger under control,”

 

He gripped his hair so hard it hurt, turning away from them to face x-rays of a dos broken arm. He turned back to the a few minutes later, leaning on the cold, metal table. When he put his hands down on it he could feel where he had dented the table.

 

“Did I do this… with magic?” his voice quaked over the question he didn’t want an answer to.

 

“That’s how I knew…” Deaton revealed, “I saw you barely hit that table but your magic came out along with your burst of anger… it’s growing.”

 

“How did it even-” he yelled but cut himself off, of course, “The nogitsune… Getting possessed… it enacted my magic didn’t it? It made it grow?”

 

Deaton looked to Morrel and when she nodded to him he began explaining, “Having that much supernatural power inside of you at once... it would have made anyones spark flare but because you were under attack in a way it seemed to flare up in defense. That’s not normal magic… Defensive magic is usually reserved for witches and sparks, like yourself”

 

“So like.. a natural defense?” Stiles asked and the pair nodded in confirmation, “So I’m basically a human version of Beacon Hills and all the supernatural come searching for me but it…automatically tries to protect me if any of the said supernatural come after me?”

 

“Technically Beacon Hills is a much larger beacon but I suppose the comparison fits,” Deaton said.

 

“You needed to know this, Stiles,” Morrel spoke urgently, “If this really is a witch problem we have… they’ll be able to sense it. If they’re as purist as your research proved then they won’t like you very much either.”

 

“Perfect,” he snarked.

 

“They’re not very big on sparks, thinking they should have left well enough alone and stayed magically ignorant but they especially hate when they use their magic to service other supernatural beings instead of becoming an apprentice to a coven.” Deaton remarked.

 

“So they’ll be mad because of the pack?” he thought aloud, “I didn’t even know what was happening! I had no idea about sparks or witches or any of this shit! Why would they target me?”

 

“I don’t think she is targeting you. I think it’s more of a pack thing. If she knew you were a spark… she would have come already. If your spark continues to grow then it’ll be more noticeable, traceable,” Deato warned.

 

“But,” Morrel insisted, “It’ll give you your own weapon, something to protect yourself with other than a baseball bat.”

 

He contemplated this as strategically as he could in the moment. If he grew his spark he would never be able to get rid of it, never be able to fly under the radar. There would be more witches, more nogitsunes, more of this crap coming after him. Stiles knew he couldn’t handle that.

 

“I don’t want it to grow anymore,” he said sternly, “I like my baseball bat just fine and I’m done being chased by every supernatural in the book. I want to be able to got to college, live a normal boring human life. I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder for the next creature that’s going to come for me.” His tone was final and he could tell it pained them both to hear it.

 

“Are your teachings growing it?” Stiles questioned. He loved the sessions with the emissary but would cease them if it meant keeping his magic under control.

 

Thankfully he shook his head, “Barely, it definitely helps it along but not as much as the other things I could teach you. We’ll continue to keep it small and only plant based.”

 

Stiles was happy to hear that; the teachings were really helping and, now, it made sense why.

 

“Okay then, I have to get back to the Hale vault to keep researching,” after he grabbed his bag he turned to Morrel, “I will see you tomorrow for our session and I’ll see you Friday, Deaton.”

 

“Stiles-” Morrel started but he raised a hand that made her stop.

 

“I can’t talk about this anymore,” he said, voice weary. He may have a fantastic ability to compartmentalize in the moment but if he heard anymore he was going to lose it. “I need to digest this and… move along from it. I’ve made my decision about this. I will see you tomorrow,”

 

And with that he hurried from the room and out the back door to his car. The second he was inside he started to panic, his breath coming quickly. He gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white but he still couldn’t ground himself.

 

“This cannot be happening,” he whimpered to the empty car.

 

No wonder he’d had so many near death experiences since the supernatural came into his life. They all could probably sense it, his spark. God, would he ever catch a break?

 

Over the next twenty minutes he somehow calmed his breathing so he could think clearly. He had to tell Scott, he couldn’t keep this from him especially if he ended up putting them in danger. Again. Stiles barely fought the urge to punch the steering wheel. He would always be a burden to them even in quiet times. He would always be the one who brought this upon them even if they weren’t looking for trouble.

 

He felt his lip start to tremble but he refused to cry about this. So he took a deep breath, put his keys into the ignition, and started driving home because that’s all he could do. He could act normal and suppress his… magic. It sounded absurd even in his head, the fact that he had magic at all but he had to ignore it to keep them safe. He wouldn’t let his own shit ruin the pack again.

____________________________________________________________________

 

Now that Stiles knew the spark was there he was hyper aware of it. When his anxiety crept up on him and when the anger got to be too much he could literally feel himself buzzing. Especially when he interacted with nature.

 

He hadn’t been able to sleep that night so he went out into their backyard and just laid in the grass. It had felt like a high, like this calming almost chemical feeling spreading through him.

 

Nature was comforting him, soothing his anxieties and worries to a dull roar. It pained him to admit it but he liked it a lot. The woods had always been his solace, a place to go to clear his head. Now he knew why and it almost made him rethink his decision to ignore his spark. Almost but not close enough. The costs far outweighed the benefits in his mind.

 

Yet he had been so comfy and felt so safe there in the yard that he fell asleep. He woke the next day to his father standing over him, a curious look on his face. Stiles had brushed off his questions, blaming it on exhaustion or something before he ran into the house to get ready for school.

 

He had let Scott know that he needed to talk to him after he got out of his session with Morrel. The alpha seemed more on edge than usual, looking over his shoulder all the time. The fact that they were dealing with witches was really getting to everyone.

 

Stiles was dreading seeing Morrel because she always spoke like she had all the answers and he knew she was in favor of him fully being a spark. He could see it in her face when he said he didn’t want it at all.

 

Too soon he was seeing that face again as he dropped his backpack next to his usual seat in her office. She was quiet for a while to the point where he almost spoke first.

 

“Do you think you’ve made progress here, Stiles?” she said quietly.

 

He thought about it for a moment. His nightmares had all but stopped, he was getting more sleep than usual, and his depression was kept at bay most of the time.

 

“I seem to be”, he responded, “It seems like I’ve got my head somewhat under control the past couple of months,”

 

Her pursed lips told him more than her words could of but she spoke anyway, “Then why do you want to take steps backwards?”

 

“I don’t think I am by ignoring… whatever this is.” he explained, “I think I’m protecting them like I should have done before.”

 

“No, you’re not.” She declared, “You are running away from yourself. You are leaving them unprotected because you hate that the nogitsune left you with something that you can’t get rid of.”

 

His annoyance flared at her words, “You don’t know a thing-“

 

“I know lots of things, Stiles,” she interrupted, looking as if he offended her intelligence, “I know that sparks are extremely powerful beings when trained correctly. I know that the things you’ve learned with my brother would be enhanced by using your spark. I also know that sparks can learn to mask their scent and aura to other supernatural beings in a way of protection.”

 

His gaping mouth shut quickly when she had paused then continued.

 

“I am aware that sparks, like witches, gain strength from the earth and nature like wolves gain strength from being in a pack. Which is why gripping onto that wooden chair so tightly gives you a sense of security,” she stated matter of factly making him feel quite stupid for one of the few times in his life, “I also know that once a spark has been fed like yours was by the nogitsune it doesn’t just go away because you don’t want it. Your magic is like a living thing inside of you, it won’t let you get hurt and it will find you in times of need.”

 

“What like if I’m under attack by a witch?” he guessed, knowing where this was going.

 

“Why, yes!,” the counselor exclaimed sarcastically, “It will flare on its own if you are being mentally or physically threatened, from yourself or from others. Yes, I do mean that when you get angry or anxious your spark tries to combat it but more often than not it will only charge you more and when you burst, your magic will burst too. Like what you did to my brother’s examination table but probably worse. An untrained spark is sporadic, unstable, and, therefore, dangerous.”

 

“So you’re saying that even if I don’t train or,” he put up air quotes, “‘feed‘my spark, it will lash out when I’m feeling… extreme or am in an extreme situation?”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” she replied, her face growing serious and pleading, “You need to train, Stiles. If you don’t you’ll only be another threat to them.”

 

That was what tipped him from annoyance to anger. How dare she use his fear of endangering the pack against him. With a snarl he got up from his seat, barely registering the questions she was throwing at him.

 

“I have an appointment with your brother and I think that our time is up,” he growled at her before turning and storming out of the school.

 

They still had a whole half hour left but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop being irritated if she kept trying to convince him. Stiles had made his decision and she needed to respect that whether she agreed with it or not.

 

He would get his spark under control and he would protect his pack as a human, end of discussion.

 

Fuming, he sped to the clinic and roughly put the jeep in park, gears grinding into place. He saw Scott’s car outside and remembered that he had yet to tell him about everything.

 

“Ah hell,” he muttered under his breath.

 

When he walked into the back room Scott was pacing, waiting anxiously for him. His eyes landed on Stiles instantly and Stiles could literally feel the anxiety bleed out of him.

 

It was the strangest feeling, like he could sense the emotion leaving his friends mind and unlike before he realized what was happening to him he could sense Scott’s presence. Like a vibe of sorts, one that was distinctly powerful but laced with worry.

 

“Stiles?” Deaton chanced, noticing how frozen he was, “Stiles, it’s okay.”

 

The boy looked to him quickly, eyes wide with fear at everything he was feeling.

 

“You’ll get used to it,” the vet shrugged.

 

“Get used to what? Stiles what is going on, man?” Scott whined, the waves of anxiety coming off of him fading into sheer confusion.

 

“I-I found out what’s been going on with me,” Stiles sputtered, looking to Deaton for encouragement and when he nodded he continued, “I found out that- that I’m a spark. I have m-magic.”

 

Scott looked absolutely perplexed at what Stiles was saying.

 

“How? What? When did this happen?” he replied.

 

Stiles looked to Deaton then, pleading silently for help.

 

“Stiles has always… had a bit more inside of him than a normal human,” Deaton reported slowly, “That’s part of the reason why the nogitsune chose him but having that much magic in him made his spark flare and act out. It grew quite a bit so that’s why there have been noticeable changes in Stiles… on top of the myriad of mental repercussions of the possession.”

 

“What can we do? How does it work?” Scott inquired, he seemed more curious than worried now that he knew Stiles wasn’t in any danger.

 

But that wasn’t true and it irked Stiles that Deaton neglected to mention the issues it would cause for the pack.

 

“It’s not going to and we’re not going to do anything about it,” he seethed through his clenched teeth, “What he’s failing to tell you is that these witches, one, hate sparks and, two, they and other supernaturals will be able to sense me, maybe even be drawn to me. Using it will only make that worse. I’m not training and I’m not using it,” he turned to Deaton then, “My decision was very clear.”

 

“Stiles, man-“ Scott started.

 

“No, Scott, don’t try and convince me. I already have to deal with Morrel pestering me don’t you start too. I have wreaked enough havoc on this pack. I am not going to be a walking beacon for chaos again!” His voice was irate at best, Scott taking a step back from him.

 

Both he and Deaton stared at Stiles as if waiting for instruction after his outburst. He took a few deep breaths to get his feelings under control.

 

“Now,” he began, “Morrel said something about masking it, some way to cloak my aura or something.”

 

“There is a way,” Deaton explained, “There’s also a way to mask your scent. It’ll be more… potent now.”

 

As if on cue, Scott’s nose wrinkled and puzzlement clouded his features.

 

“You do smell different,” he said in wonder, “Before you always smelled like sugar and, I don’t know, rain,”

 

“How romantic, Scotty,” Stiles jabbed, needing the conversation to be less serious.

 

“Shut up,” Scott joked, “But really, it is stronger. You still smell like sugar but it’s like… burnt sugar now. Like a lightning storm.”

 

Stiles’ face must have given away his confusion at the comparison seeing as to most lightning storms just smelled like oncoming rain if anything at all.

 

Deaton quickly explained, “Wolves can almost taste those changes in weather. All we smell is the rain but thunder and lightning have distinct tastes and smells they leave in the air. You’ll be able to sense that now too.”

 

“What!?” he and Scott belted in unison.

 

The man only smirked at them, “That’s what you were feeling when you walked in. Think of it as the hyper vigilance extending to your senses but without the paranoia hopefully. They’ll be heightened now. Kind of like wolves and their ability to sense emotion but instead of a smell it be like…”

 

“A vibe, like a radio wave type sensation,” Stiles finished and Deaton peered at him inquiringly.

 

“Yes, just like that. That you can’t mask or turn off,” he confirmed, “It may fade into the background of your daily life at best but you can’t undo the awakening of your magic.”

 

Trepidation pooled in his stomach so quickly Scott took a double take at the sudden flood of emotion. There was no way he could get rid of it; he would always be an over sensitive, time bomb of a person. He supposed it was better, though, than being a walking lighthouse for danger. His curiosity kept at him, beckoning him to learning more about his magic.

 

“Are you sure you want this, Stiles?” Scott whispered to him, feeling the conflicting emotions rolling off of him in waves.

 

Was he sure? He could cloak his spark for the time being and slowly learn how to control it for good. It would be an uphill battle to fight against magic but he would try. Until then, he would have Deaton tell him what he knows about sparks and gather enough information to know what’s happening to him.

 

“I’m sure. I think I should get all the information about being… a spark but I do think cloaking it is the best for the safety of the pack,” he told them, “How do we do it?”

 

Deaton looked unsure, his mouth a tight line of uncertainty.

 

“I’d have to call a friend,” he thought aloud, “I’ve told you all, I’m no witch and this is definitely a witches spell. Druid methods would be… unhelpful to say the least. We don’t practice magic at all. Druidism is much more akin to alchemy than witchcraft. It’s mental and chemical, not spiritual.”

 

Scott half shrugged, “We have no idea where the berserkers are and we have yet to even catch a whiff of anything unnatural around. Things seem… quiet,” he offered.

 

“Yeah, but will they stay that way long enough for this friend of yours to get here?” he said to the both of them, “See how fast they can get here and we’ll work from there. I don’t want to bring any attention to us… if this person is a witch it may stir the pot when we aren’t ready to defend ourselves.”

 

“I agree,” Deaton echoed, “I think we should keep up the look that things are still as they were. If they don’t know you’re a spark then they won’t come for you all, not yet. If I know Eva, she’s planning something elaborate.”

 

“Who the hell is this lady!?” Stiles sputtered.

 

“She’s theatrical and has more hate in her than Kate could ever muster,” Deaton remarked in all seriousness, his tone grave, “Eva loves a show and she likes to play a cat and mouse game. She would only strike until you’re exactly where she wants you.”

 

‘Lovely, like a regular Broadway play,” Stiles snarked.

 

Deaton called his contact then, Lucy her name was. She agreed with them, laying low for as long as it took was their best option and she would come down in a week or two from Portland to perform the spell.

 

Stiles would deal with his spark when he was ready and when the wicked witch of the west coast wasn’t hot on their trail. Until then, they would play at normalcy and wait for Eva to make her move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Stiles figuring out his magic is going to be fun to see. There will be hard times ahead in these chapters as they prepare for Eva, Lucy appears, and Stiles starts to think about who he really is post-nogitsune. This story has been taking unexpected turns in my head so please check the tags for how the story is changing! I wouldn't want anyone to be disappointed.  
> xx


	7. What Autumn Brought Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucy makes her very first appearance! She's one of my favorites by far and is modeled after someone from the Secret Circle.  
> Also remember when I tagged fluid sexuality? That comes into play in this chapter.  
> xx

For the next week Stiles went running almost every day. It was the only way to get himself under control. Running through the woods he was able to breathe and get a handle on his now heightened emotions. He relished in his newfound connection to nature; the way the wind seemed to caress him as he bolted through the trees and how the sun kissed his skin as he lay in the grass. If he wasn’t at school or at home, he was in the preserve.

 

He even saw Derek the last time he’d been out there. Well he didn’t see him per say but he felt his presence there. Not even needing to look around, Stiles would know if a wolf was nearby and the past week had given him a chance to realize that all of them had different energies. Scott’s was distinct because he was an alpha, his aura was pure but authoritative and unbelievably powerful. Isaac’s cynicism was palpable to him now. His sadness and anger was wound about him like a blanket at all times but Stiles could feel his softness just under the surface. Derek’s vibes felt calm but tumultuous just beneath that, he was good at masking his feelings even spiritually. It was a feeling coming from him that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on but anytime he sensed it he knew it was Derek.

 

Scott hadn’t told the pack about Stiles’... developments. He didn’t see a point until they had a better understanding of what exactly a spark was. Stiles could tell Derek knew by the way he would watch over him when he was alone. The pack knew about the witches and their beliefs which was enough to make everyone paranoid but he could tell Derek and Scott watched him differently because they knew he was especially in danger.

 

He hadn’t even told Lydia and it was killing him. It wasn’t for a lack of trying or because he didn’t want to, it was just hard to wrap his head around. His dad was unaware as well but that was solely for his protection. Stiles planned to tell him once this whole thing blew over.

 

The berserkers continued to stay quiet and it had everyone on edge. Their ability to pop up out of nowhere then disappear without a trace was a little more than troubling. Luckily, Deaton’s friend was supposed to get there that day.

 

When he came home from his daily run there was a chill in the air. Northern California was still warm that time of year but the fall air still had him in hoodies and sweaters most of the time. He loved it, loved the crispness in the air.

 

Checking his phone, he saw a text from Scott telling him to be at the clinic by 2:30.

 

“Fuck,” he blurted aloud, he only had about forty-five minutes to shower and get there.

 

He figured rinsing was the best plan of action as to not take too long; he would take a more thorough shower later. He toweled off quickly and put on jeans and a long sleeved shirt before getting his things.

 

In no time, he was driving through town to the clinic. A red four-door was in the parking lot, Oregon plates on it. The mysterious Lucy was finally here and hopefully he would get real answers about his magic.

 

He heard her before he saw her, a naturally playful tone to her voice that already had Stiles comfortable until he heard what she was saying.

 

“Alan I told you before, I love you but I have to meet him before I do the spell,” she sounded firm in her resolve and that put worry in his heart.

 

“He doesn’t want it, Lucy,” Deaton responded, “He was very clear about that. I don’t know if you’ll be able to convince him otherwise.”

 

“We’ll see about that. He doesn’t know what he wants!” she exclaimed, laughing through her words, “He doesn’t even know what he is! I want him to have all the information before I do this and he makes a decision that he can’t undo.”

 

“Lucy, you can’t push him like this. He’s… volatile right now.” Deaton cautioned making Stiles’ hackles rise in defense.

 

Was he wrong? Obviously not if his temper flared at such a small statement but it still bothered him to hear. He was ready to keep eavesdropping from outside the door but it opened suddenly revealing a petite, older woman with blonde wavy hair.

 

“You must be Stiles,” she greeted him, “Join us, it must be much easier for you to listen in from this side of the door.”

 

He felt his face fill with blood, embarrassment coloring his features pink as he nodded and walked into the room. Deaton watched him carefully to see if she had pushed him too far.

 

“Now, for introductions,” she stated, “I’m Lucy Donoghue,”

 

Stiles took her outstretched hand and the feelings that bled into his were only warm and inviting. The smile she flashed him reflected that and he cautiously smiled back, the comfortable feeling he had felt at the initial sound of her voice returning.

 

“I’m Stiles,” he responded, “Obviously. You said that already.”

 

Lucy just chuckled, “Indeed. Now, let’s get to know each other a little better. Would you like to talk here or somewhere more comfortable?”

 

He immediately looked to Deaton for assurance and at his nod Stiles contemplated if he wanted to go somewhere else with someone he didn’t know at all.

 

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” she murmured,  a knowing twinkle in her eye, “I’m not here to hurt you or take advantage of you. I just want you to know everything you can about what’s happening to you.”

 

He sighed, feeling tired from the stress of the changes in himself. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore.

 

“Could we go to the preserve?” he suggested, “I’ve been spending a lot of time there lately.”

 

Lucy nodded, “I’ll drive,”

 

“Okay,” he agreed, once more looking to Deaton, “Let Scott know where I am so he’s not freaking out.”

 

“Will do,” Deaton responded, “We’ll talk when you get back.”

 

With that he and Lucy made their way out to her car.

 

The drive to the preserve was quiet, his leg bobbing up and down with anxiety. He felt her looking at him from time to time, examining him. It didn’t entirely help his mental state. He felt like his mind was open to her for some reason. Was she a psychic or was she just acutely attuned to emotions? Was she a witch? What if she was secretly in cahoots with Eva?

 

Before he knew it she was parking the car and turning to him as she unbuckled herself.

 

“I’ll answer all of your questions in a few minutes,” she told him, “I could feel them jamming up your mind as we sat here. Just know that I am not here to hurt you, Stiles. I really just want to help.”

 

She seemed so genuine, her energy still giving off gentle, comforting tendrils of energy that seemed to coil around him. He hated that it made him miss his mom.

 

Instead of responding he just got out of the car and once she had as well he led her into the shade of the trees he loved so much. They walked for a while until Stiles turned them off the path and to a clearing he spent a lot of the week in. She immediately sat in the middle of the grass where the sun could beat down on them. He followed suit quickly.

 

Minutes of silence ticked by, both of them taking in the warmth and the chill in the air. It was calming him down and he let it happen for once instead of panicking.

 

“What do you want to know, Stiles?” she said quietly, seeming to be just as entranced as him in the hold of nature.

 

He contemplated that. He wanted to know so many things but where did he start?

 

“Are you a witch?” he asked, turning to look at her.

 

“I am,” she replied, “I’m an emissary to a pack in Portland. One of the wolves came with me today. You’ll probably meet him later; he’s spending time with your alpha at the moment.”

 

Stiles hummed in acknowledgement, not really knowing how to respond. So she wasn’t a purist. He didn’t believe her to be but it was nice to hear confirmation.

 

“Stiles,” she whispered, immediately catching his eye the second he looked up at her. Hers were soft with understanding, “What do you want to know about you?”

 

His heart hurt slightly at the kindness in her words. She was determined to make him understand and he was more than willing to participate.

 

“What… what is a spark really?” he questioned hesitantly, “Morrel… she tried to tell me but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen so it just sounded like a mirage of crap.”

 

Lucy laughed lightly at his obvious stubbornness and he scratched the back of his neck nervously as he waited for her response.

 

“A spark is simply a person with magical ability,” she said, “On a scale of magic a spark would be in the middle with druids towards the bottom and witches at the very top. I never had a choice in whether my magic was to come to the surface. It was born in me and I learned the craft at a very young age. Witches tend to have genetic lines of magic. Sparks just kind of pop up out of chance. Like Alan told you, some sparks are never activated and go dormant.”

 

He was listening intently so she continued.

 

“Unfortunately, you didn’t have a choice. The nogitsune made it for you thinking it would be to its benefit but died too soon to take further advantage of you,” she lightly touched his arm when she spoke, probably feeling the bitterness coming off of him, “All you can do now is try to understand yourself.”

 

“What exactly am I capable of?” he inquired, thinking of the burst of magic that dented Deaton’s table.

 

“Anything you’d like besides defying the laws of nature,” she said carefully, “Sparks can do almost anything a witch can but for more trying spells they need assistance where a witch could do it on their own. You can use the herbs and plants Alan has been showing you but you can do things like locator spells, binding and unbinding spells, et cetera.”

 

Stiles felt his mind reel at the possibilities.

 

“Witchcraft is much better taught in practice than theory,” she warned, “I can tell you a myriad of spells but you’d never understand their purpose in the practice unless you did them.”

 

He nodded, tight lipped at the first hint of her pushing him to practice.

 

“Why don’t you want it, Stiles?” the question wasn’t rhetorical, her face showing the need to know.

 

“I’ve put my pack through so much,” he started, letting his fingers play with blades of grass as he spoke, “As far as I know sparks attract… trouble of all kinds which is why the nogitsune found and chose me. They’ve been through hell and that is my fault. I refuse to put them back there,”

 

His voice was barely above a whisper when he finished. The memories beginning to be too much for him.

 

“Stiles, have you ever seriously thought about the danger they could be in without your help?” she asked, “Or are you so sure that you can’t offer them anything? I think they think much more of you than you do.”

 

“All I’ve given them is trouble and all I’ve been is a burden,” he muttered.

 

“Not from what I hear,” she smirked at his head snapping up, “Your alpha is quite fond of you, I can sense the bond he has to you. I thought you were brothers. Did you know that you’re his second?”

 

Stiles shook his head lightly. What even was that?

 

“I don’t even know if he knows it. A second in a pack is like the vice president. He may be the alpha but you are his partner, his go-to person for decisions and advice.” Stiles smiled to himself at the information, “Usually seconds are other wolves but not in your pack. They value you so much. Your detective abilities and intelligence are rivaled by few, Alan tells me.”

 

“Deaton? He said that?” Stiles blurted, shocked. The emissary never paid him compliments.

 

Lucy nodded though, “He told me about you a year or two ago when he first suspected you. He said there was no one better in your pack to have magic. He could tell even then how talented you were and could be but he could also see how little faith you have in yourself.”

 

His smile faded then. She wasn’t wrong there, he had never thought very highly of himself though he put up a confident facade.

 

“Stiles, it’s not going to matter how many people tell you good things about yourself and compliment your skills if you don’t believe what they’re saying. Sure it’s nice to hear but if you’re keeping yourself caged up then they won’t be able to receive the help you could be providing.”

 

He nodded because once again she wasn’t wrong. He supposed he did have something to offer them, protection of sorts.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” she started, his attention swaying back to her, “I will cloak your magic so that they can’t trace it but only if you actively go easy on yourself. It’s not healthy, all the blame and guilt you have internally. I know I don’t know what happened to you, no one does but you. Yet, I can’t help but think of the wonderful things you could do if you would let go of your past.”

 

She held his eyes to hers, unwavering eye contact as he felt the tears well in his eyes.

 

“You are so angry, Stiles. You are so angry and it’s eating you alive,” she murmured slowly to him, her hand fully grasping his, “The infamous sarcasm doesn’t cover anything either; it puts it on display. Don’t treat your magic like it’s a disease. It makes you who you are, uniquely powerful even if you think you are weak.”

 

Tears were rolling down his cheeks freely now. He didn’t know what it was; if it was the easy, natural connection he had with her that split him open or how clearly she pinpointed every anxiety, every piece of self doubt in him but he couldn’t help but cry.

 

“Now, this is no time for tears,” she said with a smile, bringing her hand to his face to wipe the tear tracks from his cheeks, “I’m assuming you wanted to me to cloak you still?”

 

Stiles coughed and wiped his face of wetness before answering, “Yes, I do. I can’t promise you my attitude towards myself will turn around so quickly but I will try.”

 

She nodded, “Good. Just try small things at first, little acts of self love and care. Making sure you’re fed well, getting enough sleep, exercise, and not beating yourself up at the first sign of difficulty. That all adds up and will help you along.”

 

It sounded easy enough but he knew it would be hard just to get seven hours of sleep. He actually felt himself wanting to try, though, which was different.

 

“Okay, then.” she stated, standing up and turning her face to the sun one last time, “Let’s get you cloaked.”

_____________________________________________

 

It took maybe a half hour for Lucy to cloak his magic. All she had needed was a little bit of his hair from a brush at home to make the mixture required. She lit it on fire and chanted some in what sounded like Latin and it was done. Supposedly it was a very simple spell that helped mask the clear presence of magic.

 

She had hugged him tightly and gave him her phone number before heading off to meet Deaton for an early dinner. Stiles felt better than he had in years after meeting and talking with Lucy that day. She reminded him so much of his mom that she immediately brought his walls down; he still didn’t know how to feel about that but he decided not to fight it.

 

Feeling light on his feet, he called Scott when he got into the car.

 

“Hey man!” Scott said happily, “What’s up?”

 

“Just leaving the clinic.” he told him“, where are you guys?”

 

Stiles could hear an unfamiliar voice in the background that he assumed was Cory, the wolf Lucy had brought along. He could also tell Isaac was there, his wheezing laugh finding its way through the receiver.

 

“By the lake!” Scott exclaimed, “Come meet us”.

 

“On my way, buddy,” Stiles responded before hanging up.

 

He knew what kids did by the lake. Beacon Hills had a manmade lake close to the school where all the stoners would hang out before and after the school day to smoke copious amounts of pot. Stiles liked pot, he really did, and he would probably smoke more if he could actually buy in this town. No one would sell to him because of his dad and he honestly didn’t want to bring it in the house because they foster some of the K9 unit dogs from time to time and he didn’t want one of them ending up in his room.

 

So he only smoked every so often, usually with Scott who found it helped him on full moons. Isaac had always been a bit of a stoner so he was always ready to spot them if it meant not smoking alone.

 

He tried to park the jeep far enough away from the lake that it wouldn’t look like the Sheriff’s son was in the stoner den then he made his way to where he could hear the three wolves.

 

They were sat by the water’s edge, Scott with his back against a tree and the other two sitting slightly below him facing each other. You could tell they were oriented around Scott, the alpha, naturally taking seats lower than him.

 

They all heard Stiles coming and whipped around to wave at him.

 

“What’s up,” he greeted them, smiling easily.

 

Isaac saluted him, obviously a little toasted.

 

“Stiles, my man,” Scott’s voice silly, “This is Cory! He’s from the Portland pack. Cory this is my brother Stiles! He’s not my blood brother but we are in spirit, you know?”

 

Stiles laughed loudly at Scott’s sentimentality, he always got like this when he was high. He loved to tell people they were brothers, the weed making him sappier than usual.

 

He turned to the wolf he knew was Cory to shake his hand and was quite taken aback at just how good looking he was. An easy smile came across the man’s face as he extended a hand to Stiles. He took it eagerly, shaking his hand firmly while smiling hello. His voice wasn’t really working for some reason he didn’t want to think about.

 

“So”, he started, sitting down next to Scott when he patted the ground beside him, “What are you guys up to? I don’t really need to ask but I figured I would out of courtesy.”

 

The three of them cackled at his words. Yep, they were super stoned.

 

“Would you like to smoke, Stiles?” Isaac said very seriously like he was asking Stiles to come into the Matrix.

 

“I think I can swing it”, he teased.

 

“Awesome,” Cory commented excitedly, pulling out a bowl from the pocket of his pullover.

 

Isaac packed the bowl while Scott filled Stiles in on what they’d been doing with their day. Cory had been telling them about his pack and how they do things in Portland. He was nineteen; a freshman at the university in Portland, a school both Stiles and Scott had gotten into.

 

“You guys should come visit!” Cory offered, “I can show you guys around the school and the city. It’s a great place, very supernatural-friendly and chill.”

 

“That’s what we’ve heard so far,” Stiles replied, taking the bowl from Isaac and taking a hit, “We have to decide by April so I’d love to see the campus and shit beforehand.”

 

He blew out the sweet smoke slowly, his arms tingling at the sensation.

 

“If we do go,” Scott said through a lungful of smoke, “Stiles and I are going to be roommates!”

 

Stiles could feel Isaac go sour. They all knew that he was opting to go to Beacon Community so he could stay close in case he was needed. It hurt Scott to know that but it hurt Isaac even more to hear his alpha so excited to be leaving him.

 

“Yeah but we’ll be back in town on full moons,” Stiles slipped in casually, feeling Isaac perk up a little, “Isaac you have to come stay with us all the time man! We’ll get a pull out couch so you have a comfy place to sleep.”

 

The beta nodded enthusiastically as he sucked in smoke. His eyes crinkled around the smile he was now wearing. Stiles and Isaac didn’t get along often but since Allison passed they had decided to put their differences aside and their jealousy over Scott. They had an easy friendship now.

 

Cory took the bowl from Isaac as Scott engaged him in a long, in depth description of all the fun they’d have in Portland when he visited. The new wolf’s eyes were scanning Stiles’, a knowing look on his face. He was much more aware than Scott and had caught Stiles swaying the conversation to cheer up Isaac.

 

Stiles shrugged at him in an  _“I don’t know what you’re talking about”_ kind of way that made Cory puff out smoke harshly over a laugh. Stiles laughed too, looking down at his lap.

 

“So, Stiles,” Cory asked as he passed the bowl to him, his fingers brushing Stiles’ hand purposefully“, Do you have an idea of what you want to study?”

 

His eyes were intent on him in a way that made Stiles want to squirm. Instead, he focused on lighting the bowl in his hand. He held in the smoke for longer than usual, keeping eye contact with Cory as he did. His eyes were eerily blue, gunmetal type of blue that was almost grey.

 

He shook his head and blew the smoke out, looking away quickly. What the hell was that?

 

“I uh have varied interests,” he said quickly“, I’ve thought about criminology, son of a Sheriff and all, but I’ve also thought about literature with a focus on folklore and myth. There are lots of things I wanna learn about.”

 

Cory nodded, looking away and saying, “That’s awesome you have so much you wanna learn about,” he looked back then and remarked, “There are some great teachers there.”

 

He only nodded in return, unsure of where the conversation had gone really. Scott and Isaac were watching them intently, looking somewhere between confused and surprised.

 

Uncomfortable and needing a distraction, Stiles looked at his phone and noticed the time. It was almost six and the sun was slowly setting.

 

“I’ve gotta go,” he blurted, getting up and brushing off his jeans, “I have to make dinner for me and my dad before he gets home. I’ll see you guys later.”

 

He threw a “it was nice meeting you” Cory’s direction as he began his walk back to the jeep, not making eye contact with him.

 

His high hit him then and he felt static in his bones. Thankfully it was not the kind that usually indicates him almost fainting but, the comfortable hum of weed in his system.

 

The drive back went by in a blur, his music making his mood jump back and forth as he sang along. He got home fast and leapt out of the jeep. His dad wasn’t back yet and wouldn’t be until the morning. Stiles had fibbed to have an excuse to leave; the Sheriff was scheduled to work an overnight.

 

Stiles put his keys on their appropriate hook and went to his room, laying down on his bed. He felt like a pile of bricks laying there, so weed heavy. Yet he could feel it churning in his stomach. Arousal isn’t a foreign emotion to him, he’s almost eighteen for God sake, but since the nogitsune and Allison he didn’t have a consistent libido. Sex with Malia was always a distraction for him and he hadn’t been as depressed with her around.

 

As his inner bullshit had unfolded, he all but lost the feeling of desire that had become so familiar to him. It had been almost two months since he last touched himself and four close to six since he and Malia had had break-up sex.

 

Yet now in his high state it came back to him easily. Heat coiled right below his navel, the feeling of blood rushing its way to his groin was clear. He had always loved to get high and jerk off. He would do it for hours sometimes; he didn’t know what it was about weed but it always made him horny.

 

By the point he was almost fully hard, his dick straining against his jeans insistently. He cupped himself in his hand, hissing at the feeling of it, before he reached into this nightstand for the lube he hid there.

 

After ridding himself of his jeans and shirt, he pulled his boxers down far enough for him to take his swelling dick out. It felt heavy and hot in his cool, lube slicked hand. He typically liked going slow, teasing himself for minutes on end.

 

One full stroke from tip to root had his hips raising to meet his hand, though, and in no time his head was thrown back against the pillows with his mouth open wide. The lack of solo play in his life lately becoming very apparent.

 

He tried to go slow he really did but the twist of his hand over the head of his cock just felt too good. His strokes were measured but fast, his free hand tweaking at his nipple. Stiles had a full mind of spankbank material; it was like he never forgot anything that was in any way arousing to him and the images and instances played in his mind like a movie.

 

Lydia pushing back against him in her sleep, Malia nibbling on his neck and dragging her nails down his spine, that one time he met up with Kaitlyn behind everyone’s back this summer, his accidental adventure into the gay section of PornHub, the look Cory gave him that day.

 

He was coming like mad after that, thrusting up into his fist hard as he painted his stomach in cum. Breathless and satiated for the time being, Stiles lay there too lazy to fully get up and get his tissues so he just batted at the table until he felt them.

 

He hadn’t realized until he was idly cleaning himself up that he had thought of Cory when he came. What the hell was that?

 

When he went to shower he looked in the mirror at his bitten lips and fucked out hair. He had come so hard to a vast array of mental images, why was Cory one of them? _Do you?_ Kaitlyn’s question to him at the rave came to his mind.

 

He kept looking at himself in the mirror then, thinking _Wow I really_ don’t _know who I am  anymore_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was super nervous about posting this chapter. Lucy will be playing bigger roles in Stiles' life as the story progresses! She's a bueno witch with lots of skill; I can't wait to show you guys what she can do. If anyone has tips on describing male masturbation that would be great. You will see Cory again at some point in the story. His presence and he himself will continue to push Stiles to examine the random feelings, urges, and thoughts he's been having about men. To clarify: Stiles is not gay in this story. Don't get mad at me. Remember the tags. That is all!
> 
> Next chapter the pack spends Thanksgiving together and I'm serving up a big ole helping of feels xx


	8. With friends like ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pack feels through Stiles' eyes. Like all of the feels. I hope it makes you gush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish chapter compared to how long it took me to post it! It's Thanksgiving in Beacon Hills and the pack is ever so grateful. Still un-beta'd, edited by yours truly. Hope you enjoy x

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around Stiles was feeling more in tune with his magic, not that it made him entirely comfortable. Though it had been a struggle, he was getting better at practicing self care as Lucy had asked. They had spoken a few times over the phone and agreed that until he got his self hatred under control, his magic would only be a danger to the pack.

Not practicing was a good idea but he made a deal with Morrel that once they worked on his inner issues he would rethink his absolution on never using magic. He couldn’t help his curiosity and Morrel just wouldn’t leave well enough alone so it worked for both of them.

Scott was continuing to keep his magic a secret from the pack and it felt like Derek was adhering to this agreement as well, even though they never formally discussed it. School was beginning to get easier stress wise for him now that he was set to visit the University of Portland with Scott around New Years. The alpha was excited to get to meet the Portland pack and Stiles was excited to see Lucy again. They never talked about the weirdness between him and Cory that day and for that Stiles was eternally grateful. He forced what happened after he had gotten back from the lake that day out of his mind, one life crisis at a time and such.

Stiles had even started his own herb garden with Deaton’s help. It was fun to have his own store in their backyard so he could make things on his own. He had made his dad a special willow bark tea to help with his frequent migraines and a special kind of incense for himself to help him sleep at night. Natural medicine was fun and Stiles could acknowledge that he was excelling at it. He was only sticking to human remedies at the moment because salves and solutions for supernatural creatures were much more complicated so he needed Deaton’s help with those.

It was a few hours before the pack was to head to Derek’s for Thanksgiving supper and he was panicking. Stiles had agreed to help with the cooking since he usually cooked for him and his dad on Thanksgiving but he forgot how much food a pack of werewolves could eat. That meant he was making three dishes of mac and cheese, two of mashed potatoes, and a vat of mulled wine with a little wolfsbane thrown in for the wolves.

The Stilinski kitchen had never smelled better and it had never felt more like a sauna. As he put the second dish of macaroni into the oven he heard Scott come in the front door. He had already helped Lydia make a plethora of pies for them and refused to lift a finger that morning, opting for watching Stiles sweat his balls off slaving away before they went to the Beacon Diner to grab breakfast.

He grunted a hello as he collapsed onto one of their kitchen nook chairs.

“Hello to you too,” he said playfully, eyebrows rose to a sarcastic height on his forehead.

“Good morning, Stiles”, he greeted him, “How much have you got done?”

“Just put in the second thing of mac and cheese, wine is brewing, and the last dish of potatoes is cooking.” He sighed heavily while he looked around the disaster zone of a kitchen.

Scott whistled, “Impressive,” his nose wrinkled, “What’s in there?”

“Some mulled wine”, Stiles remarked, “You probably smell the wolfsbane. There’s not much in there but enough.”

Scott nodded approvingly, cheeks dimpling with excitement, the fatigue washing from his face slightly.

“After baking with Lydia for almost five hours yesterday I’m gunna need it.” he huffed “She is so bossy!”

Stiles barked a laugh at his friend, “You’re telling me. I was the one who helped her bake last year. Never again. She has some control issues in the kitchen.”

Scott was looking at him like that was the understatement of the year. Lydia prided herself on her baking abilities and, like everything else, she was always determined to excel at it. Never tell Lydia she’s put too much nutmeg into something; Stiles has the scars to prove the stupidity of it.

“What’s up with you guys anyway?” Scott questioned nosily, obviously having been wondering about Stiles’ long-time crush.

He shrugged lazily, “I don’t know really. I hardly know what’s going on with me and she’s like my best friend. After you of course don’t give me that look,” Stiles inserted after seeing Scott’s obviously wounded expression, “Neither of us want to lose that and I’m not positive I have entirely romantic feelings for her anymore.”

Scott almost fell off of his seat in surprise, making Stiles cackle.

“I’m sorry what?” the alpha sputtered.

“I said: I’m not sure if I like her like that anymore,” he said confidently. His feelings were still heavily muddled with confusion but he was almost positive that nothing romantic was going to come of he and Lydia.

“Bu-but the plan, you had a plan!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Yes, I’m well aware. I even showed you my spreadsheet”, Stiles reminded him, “I just don’t know, Scotty. After being with someone else I realized that Lydia Martin is, in fact, not the only person for me out there. Lydia was endgame, she was everything when I hardly knew her. Would I be upset if we did end up getting married someday? Absolutely not even though she’d crack my skull open at least once a month in annoyance.”

Scott eyed him suspiciously, “Are you seeing someone else? I can tell if you lie!”

“No, not at all,” he chuckled at his friend, “I’m just trying to focus on myself for once instead of catering to everyone but me.”

Scott’s face softened considerably into a gentle but proud expression.

After Stiles put in his last batch of mac and cheese and put the mashed potatoes in the fridge they hopped into the jeep. The pair of them had been spending Thanksgiving and Christmas morning at the diner since they were kids. They had met on the playground but their families both made the diner their breakfast tradition for holidays. They had had no idea till the boys saw each other down the line of booths. Immediately they ran to each other and demanded they all sit together.

When they were young their mom’s would bring them but after Stiles’ mom died and Agent McCall left, Scott and Melissa would come to their house for breakfast on those mornings. That’s when the Sheriff and Melissa began to form a bond and the boys ultimately solidified theirs.

When they hit junior high they resumed the tradition but would meet at the diner on their bikes. All they’ve done since is trade out two wheels for four. The waitress recognized them when they came in, escorting them to their usual table.

“Thanks, Phillis!” Stiles called to her.

“I can’t believe she’s still here!” Scott whispered not so quietly, “She waited on us when we were little… how old do you think she is?”

“Now Scotty, don’t be rude. You know your mom has always told you to never guess a woman’s age just because you think she’s hella old,” Stiles tutted at him, earning himself a kick under the table“, Ow wolf boy that hurt.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Scott muttered.

“You sound like Derek”, Stiles pointed at him while taking a long drink of coffee, “Are you gunna start throwing me up against walls and talking with your eyebrows too?”

Another kick under the table had him laughing through a yelp while Scott looked proud of himself.

“Is Kira coming today?” he said while nodding graciously at Phillis who had set down a pot of coffee.

Scott nodded excitedly, “Yeah! I think her mom and dad are coming too which is nice. Me and Mr. Yukimura are always on good terms but I’m glad her mom his warming up finally,”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, “ She terrifies me ever since she had such an intense agenda to murder me but water under the bridge.”

“I can’t believe this is our last Thanksgiving,” Scott spoke to himself, eyes focused out the window in thought, “I can’t imagine not being here everyday,”

Stiles tried not to make a face. He was so excited for graduation. Scott had all kinds of nostalgia about Beacon Hills and all the things he had been through in high school. He looked at it all as growth and things falling into place. Stiles wished he could have that outlook; all he wanted to do was leave it behind and start fresh.

“We’ll be back,” he assured, “Holidays, summer, all that jazz will be spent here. It’ll be nice to have a change of scenery I think.”

Scott’s eyes met his then, “Do you think it’ll be easier for you? Ya know once we’re gone,”

Stiles had recently been opening up a bit more to Scott. He never had before because the guilt of Allison felt too heavy on his heart. He had been shutting him out but since he made his deal with Lucy, he had been trying more.

“I… I don’t really know. Obviously leaving here won’t change the things that happened to us or their hold on me but I do think it will make things easier to deal with, the distance.”

“I hope so, Stiles,” Scott murmured in earnest, “You deserve that much after the hell you’ve been put through. You deserve a fresh start.”

Stiles smiled warmly at his friend, his brother. Scott never stopped being there for him, even when he pushed him away or laid layer upon layer of sarcasm and douchery over his pain. He had started realizing how rare a friendship like theirs was and just how grateful he was for it.

“Thanks Scotty,” he whispered, “You deserve it too. I’m glad we can have our fresh start together,”

Each of them smiled across the table and for a second Stiles felt like he was seven again, smiling at a boy he hardly knew but had an undeniable bond with. They had come so far and Stiles finally realized that progress doesn’t always have to look drastically different. It’s kind of like a spiral, at any point in the loop you look like you’re in the same place when you’re actually somewhere else entirely.

Phillis came with their food then and they spent the rest of breakfast in talks of what they wanted from their new start in Portland and how they needed to get a pull-out couch for Isaac. Things felt solid again and Stiles didn’t feel silly planning for his future,. He felt excited.

_________________________

Stiles’ foot was tapping in excitement as he and his dad pulled up to Derek’s house in the cruiser. The house was gorgeous to say the least. The wraparound porch had been restored to its previous glory and the house was painted a deep forest green. If you weren’t looking hard enough it would blend in with the trees from a distance. Scott, Derek, and Isaac had done the majority of the work. Stiles helped the demolition process because at the time breaking things down was noisy and distracting, no one could ask him if he was okay and he couldn’t hear them whispering about him. He stayed later than Scott and Isaac most days, working through dinner.

One night Derek had left and come back hours past midnight to drag him out of the house. That night he had been alone and slightly drunk and swinging madly with a mallet at the living room wall. He and Derek never spoke about how he had been sobbing and screaming every time the mallet landed with a thundering crash. They never spoke about Derek trying to talk Stiles down for fifteen minutes before he finally used force and dragged him into the SUV kicking and screaming. He’d stopped yelling about halfway to the loft and then the sobbing started. He sobbed so hard he cried himself to sleep only to wake up on Derek’s couch with a blanket and a glass of water beside him. They also never talked about Stiles sneaking out when he heard Derek get up and go into the bathroom. Never.

When it had gotten to rebuilding things he had made up every excuse in the book ironically enough. He had only been back once for a pack meeting and the sight of the house had only reminded him of how he only seemed to tear things down, incapable of building them back up.

Now, with his head in a much better state, he appreciated the work the three wolves had done. It looked like the original structure that Stiles had seen pictures of in the Hale vault. Just a little more modern with darker colors. He smiled at the house and mentally apologized for tearing it down so brutally.

The Sheriff brought in the bags of food after Stiles made a fuss of bringing in the wine. He had worked hard on it and refused to leave his baby to untrustworthy, parental hands. However, when they came up to the door they were both at a loss since neither of their hands were free. They turned to each other, completely puzzled at how two intelligent people could put themselves in this position.

Luckily, Derek must have heard them coming to the door and was opening it in no time, letting warm smells waft up their noses.

“Come on in, Sheriff,” the ex-alpha greeted so politely Stiles’ mouth gaped, “ Let me take one of those for you,”

“Thanks for having us, Derek,” Stiles’ father murmured in return, nodding his head.

Derek’s oddly easy smile fell into his usually plain face when he turned to Stiles. The boy gaped at him. No cordial greeting!?

Eyebrows raised in a “did you forget how to move your legs” type way that had Stiles on a rant as he walked into the foyer.

“Unbelievable! You just spoke words, two sentences worth to my dad then suddenly you’re mute again!” he muttered at Derek’s back leading him into the kitchen.

“You’re ridiculous!” he exclaimed, “I make food, I bring wine -that you are now not welcome to, by the way- yet I can’t even get a ‘hello Stiles’, ‘how are you Stiles’, ‘thank yo-”

Derek turned abruptly and Stiles all but ran into him with the oversized pot. They had made it to the kitchen without him noticing. When he ranted, he really put his whole self into it.

He moved to take the pot from Stiles’ grasp and huffed a, “Hello Stiles. How are you Stiles? Thank you for cooking food Stiles.” as he sat it down on the kitchen counter.

Stiles smirked at his “yes dear” type tone, “Much better,” he joked before turning on his heel to go into the family room.

The walls of the hallways were a little sparse, no pictures, or paintings but the grand staircase he passed by was pure art. To his surprise the living room had a large painting above the couch. It was of the New York skyline, a Monet type water color of dark blues, yellows, and blacks. It made him think of Derek’s sister, Laura, who he moved to New York with after the fire. He wondered if that’s why Derek had it but decided it was a coincidence.

The whole pack was there when he entered. Scott and his mom were on the couch but the alpha's eyes were fixed on Kira who was standing by an antique Go board at the other end of the room with her parents. Melissa took a pause from her conversation with the Sheriff to come and give Stiles a tight, rib crushing hug that he eagerly returned. He hadn’t seen her in months since he had kept to his room in his reclusive period.

“You look good, sweetheart,” she whispered to him, “You’re mom would be so proud of you.”

He begged himself not to cry at her comment. Melissa had been more of a surrogate to him than anyone and a friend of his mothers. To hear that from her meant the world.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair before pulling back to look down at her, “Now quit it. Thanksgiving is for gluttony not tears.”

He turned to find Isaac and Chris Argent walking in and he could feel both McCalls and the Sheriff’s eyes on him.

“But maybe I spoke too soon,” he muttered, “I’m gunna see if Derek needs help with dinner.”

He could kiss Derek for making this a somewhat open floor plan; the family room led into the main dining room which had a swinging door into the kitchen.

“Move over sourwolf, lemme help,” he spat quickly, earning a disapproving sputter and furrowed brow from Derek, “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just move over. What needs to be done?”

Derek stared at him for a moment before -Stiles could swear to God this happened- his ears seemed to perk up then he looked at Stiles knowingly.

Thankfully he chose to ignore it for the moment and opted for handing Stiles a spoon, “Stir the gravy while I carve.”

Stiles sighed and nodded a thank you before taking the spoon from him. He could do much more than stir but he had already made all of the side dishes and Derek was very protective of his turkey duties so there wasn’t much else for him to occupy his hands with.

They stood in companionable silence, Derek carving with a sizeable knife and Stiles staring into the brown liquid trying to think of all the ways he could avoid Argent in the next few hours. The panic was rising in his chest along with different shots of Allison in his mind. She and Scott at the formal sophomore year, their conversations when he was their go between, him talking to her while she cried about her mom, the many car rides they’d taken after that but before the nogitsune, her face as she took her last breath-

A hand came down on his though it seemed he hadn’t moved in a minute or so. His eyes were clenched tightly around the memories, breath coming fast. The hand was Derek’s, his carving knife long gone.

“Stiles,” Derek said softer than he had ever heard him before, “Breathe, Stiles.”

That’s when he let out a breath he had been focused on holding. Derek could probably smell the panic coming from him. He tried to control his breathing, in and out. Stiles didn’t know how long they stood there but there was a pointed cough from the doorway that made Stiles jump slightly.

“Lydia,” Derek greeted without looking at her, jade eyes still trained on Stiles’ profile.

“Argent’s here,” she informed him,” though I’m sure you knew that. I figured it would be better for you to greet him out there instead of in here,”

Stiles knew what she meant. It would be better if Derek greeted him away from Stiles, the boy with the spoon and the shaky hands.

Derek’s hand dropped and he was gone but Lydia was behind him then, her arms wrapped around his torso. He tried to start stirring again, hardened gravy was disgusting and he wouldn’t be the one to ruin Thanksgiving dinner.

“You okay?” she whispered to his shoulder blade.

A breath of mirthless laughter left him, “I’m stirring. Just keep stirring right?”

“Stiles,” Lydia started but he brought a hand to her folded ones on his abdomen.

“It’s getting easier, Lyds,” he murmured, his stirring faltering, “It’s just not easy right now.”

She nodded against his back and gave a pat to his belly before leaving him to continue stirring. It was nice having her there, it made seeing Chris and the onslaught of memories a lot easier. Stiles was also grateful for the mindless tasks Derek gave him till they sat down for dinner. The stirring, chopping, and setting of plates gave his mind a break after he’d calmed down from his initial panic. He was more thankful than he could show but he had a feeling Derek could tell it was helping Stiles’ mood.

When they all sat down, Stiles placed himself between his father and Derek, who was at the head of the table. Lydia sat across from him, kicking his leg lightly before shooting a reassuring smile at him. He just needed to look at Lydia to calm down, she could read him like a book and new just what to do to reel his mind in.

“Thank you all for coming,” Derek announced, surprising almost everyone with his thanks, “I really appreciate you guys making this new house feel like a home.”

He nodded uncomfortably at everyone's murmurs of gratitude and “aww Derek”’s. Stiles just smiled at him, proud of how far he’d come since that day in the woods when they first met.

“Why don’t we all go around and say what we’re thankful for?” Melissa suggested.

She started with saying how thankful she was that Scott did so well on his SATs, Scott commented on being thankful for such a wonderful pack, Kira was thankful she didn’t have to move back to New York, then her mother and father shared that they were thankful as well. Isaac jokingly said he was happy Chris hadn’t abandoned him in France then said more seriously that he was thankful he had a family finally.

Then there was Argent. His laughter at Isaac’s comment had died out and he was looking pensive and sad which made everyone steel themselves.

“I’m thankful that my daughter had such incredible people in her life. This pack meant the world to her and I don’t know how I can repay you for protecting her and loving her just as fiercely as I had,” he coughed through the emotion everyone could see he was about to choke on before he looked right at Stiles and finished, ”All of you.”

His heart lurched in his chest. They looked at eachother for a long moment. Stiles was trying very hard not to cry at the forgiving look Argent was throwing at him. He was so distracted he hadn’t even heard Lydia, her mother, and Derek say their peace. Lydia’s light kick under the table was the only thing that brought him out of it.

“Oh well there I am, hello,” he sputtered eloquently, “I, uh, I’m thankful for all of you. You guys have made me feel like I’m not so crazy and you’ve been there for me through this… absolutely shit time I’ve been having. There’s no way I can show you all how thankful I am.”

The sheriff clapped a hand on his shoulder and Lydia graced him with a watery smile. He tried his best to hold back his own tears before waving a hand for his father to go.

“I’m just thankful that you all let me in on your little secret,” he chuckled, earning chagrined looks from all the teenagers present, “But I really- I really am grateful for the way you kids take care of each other.”

The whole pack exchanged looks then and Stiles felt his heart swell. He couldn’t believe he was surrounded by such incredible people. People who loved him despite his shortcomings and took everything he gave. He was then acutely aware of how rare their bond was and silently thanked whatever God was looking out for them.

After everyone settled down, they got up and started piling food onto their plates. Stiles’ mashed potatoes got rave reviews along with the mulled wine. Scott was two glasses deep when Melissa finally took his third for herself despite his whines of protest. Chris and Isaac told stories from their time in France earning belly aching laughter from Stiles and Scott. Derek just shook his head at an anecdote about Chris getting a call about his wild wolf boy breaking into the Louvre one full moon. For the first time since Allison’s death, they all seemed peaceful and light hearted. They laughed without feeling guilty and shared more with each other than they had in months. Chris even gave them some pointers on dealing with berserkers that the sheriff made notes of as well.

By the time night fell, the pack was outside around a fire roasting marshmallows and drinking probably a little too much while the Sheriff, Melissa, Argent, and Natalie all hung out in the kitchen cleaning up. Derek had tried to sneak away with the adults, feeling oddly in between too old to be with the pack and too young to hang out with the parents. Stiles and Scott caught him though and forced him to come hang out which he complied to quicker than Stiles expected.

They all went around saying where they had applied to for the fall. Lydia had already heard back from Yale, she got in and they all cheered. Kira had put in applications to UCLA and a university in San Francisco. They all could tell Scott tried to hide his smile at the latter, seeing as it was the option that was closer to Portland. Stiles and Scott both announced their choices seeing as they were fairly the same.

Derek even told them he had been debating whether to move close to the Washington state border when they all left. It took most of them by surprise and he changed the subject quickly.

The night carried on like that, stories of France from Isaac and all of them sharing what they wanted to get out of the rest of their senior year. Lydia and Kira were huddle by the fire most of the night, roasting marshmallows and laughing as the boys argued over nonsense. Isaac asked where Malia had gone and Derek said she was with Mr. Tate for the holiday. She had texted all of them “Happy Thanksgiving” but nothing more. They figured she was heading back down to Texas the next day. Stiles tried not to feel too uncomfortable at the mention of his ex; he was still unsure of where they stood with each other.

By midnight, most of them were filing out. Scott took Kira home and Lydia hugged them all goodbye when her mom called to her. Stiles hadn’t even noticed Argent had come outside till he was standing right next to him by the fire.

Stiles stiffened and let out a stuttered greeting. All Argent did was look at him, that same look he’d given him across the table hours ago. Stiles tried not to squirm under it.

“You know, Stiles,” he started, finally looking away from him and into the darkness, “When I think of you I don’t feel hatred or blame like you may think I do. I actually think of all the times Allison would talk about how you helped her accept her mother’s death, how you were the most loyal person she had ever met, and how she hoped you knew how much you meant to her. I’ve never blamed you for what happened, Stiles. I hope one day you won’t blame yourself either.”

Stiles gave up all hope of not crying and let the tears he’d been holding back fall down his face. He was grateful that Derek and Isaac were having a moment at the edge of the woods, too distracted to listen in.

“I hope so too,” he whispered, looking up at the world weary man in front of him, “At first, I didn’t like her, ya know? Not cause she wasn’t awesome but because I was jealous of her and Scott. Then somewhere along the way we got close. It happened out of nowhere and I hadn’t even noticed till her mom passed away. Then I realized that she was actually, well, one of my best friends. I loved her so much, I need you to know that.”

He tried to keep the pleading tone out of his voice but he could hear it bleeding through. Argent pulled him into a tight hug as confirmation that he did in fact know how much Allison had meant to Stiles. When he pulled away and wiped his eyes Isaac appeared beside them, patting Stiles on the back before following Chris to the front yard.

Stiles ran a relieved hand through his hair. His first run in with Argent far exceeded his dismal expectations and he felt that little bit lighter. The fire was still going but beginning to dim and he drained what was left in his cup before picking up the trash from the pack. He’d brought out a trash bag with them and gave them warning not to mess up Derek’s wolf den but alas his friends were animals. Most of them, quite literally.

“You don’t have to do that,” he heard from behind him making him jump about five feet in the air.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, “Don’t sneak up on people like that. You’re gunna give me a premature heart attack. I’m only seventeen, Derek, I’m too young for heart attacks.”

All that earned him was a slow eyeroll before Derek started pick up the last of the trash. He grabbed the bag from Stiles and tied it up. They walked silently around the house together to toss it in the cans on the side.

“Thanks for cleaning up,” Derek commented quickly, obviously embarrassed at all the thanks he was giving them tonight.

“Anytime, sourwolf,” Stiles replied, deciding on being genuine rather than snarky for once.

He started walking towards the cruiser where Melissa and his father were waiting but Derek’s voice stopped him.

“Stiles, I’m glad you seem to be doing better,” the words rushed out of him like he wouldn’t get them out if he didn’t force them, “I know- I know that you’ve been going through a lot and yeah I have been worried about you. You-”

Derek cut himself off with a huff, turning his eyes away from Stiles’ own to stare pointedly at the tree branches above his head. Stiles had been stunned to silence about five minutes ago and was just gaping at the wolf.

However shock turned into impatience when Derek didn’t continue.

“You? You what, me what?!” he prompted. Silence. “Derek I swear-”

“You’re always welcome here!” he replied abruptly and he looked like it pained him to be nice for a change, “If you just need, I don’t know, anything or just a place to get your bearings you’re welcome. Here.”

Stiles’ face softened and he let a small smile stretch his features. Derek had been so silently supportive since Allison and it had completely escaped his notice. Tonight was the night for Stiles actually catching onto things it seemed. He and Derek had come so far from their mutual dislike, to life saving partners, to comrades and here they were being actual friends and Stiles had missed it.

Instead of replying he just walked over and hugged him. That’s all he could do to show Derek how much his support had meant to him even if he hadn’t realized it himself. Tentative arms hugged him back and Stiles laughed quietly before pulling away.

“See you around, sourwolf,” he saluted him and turned away from his very stunned face to jog over to the car.

Stiles felt his content settle in as they drove to the McCalls and back home. He could have sworn he felt Allison with him. In the trees that blurred by, in the quiet conversation in the front seat, and deep in his chest where his heart was starting to ache a little less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really meant to show the pack healing without having noticed it. I tried my best to focus on their friendships and such this chapter and the fact that they all had become a family since it had all started. Malia will randomly pop in and out of the story either in reference or in person (I'm still debating). Stay tuned x


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